


time stands still (until i gaze upon you)

by DelicatePoem



Series: broken crowns [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enchanted Forest AU, Eventual Happy Ending, Evil Queen Regina, F/F, Magic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Princess Emma Swan, Romance, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Touch-Starved, True Love, doesn't matter the universe - they are idiots in love, fairytales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem
Summary: [EF AU from 6x20]. Three months before the Dark Curse is to be cast, the Evil Queen is unexpectedly captured again. This time, there is no mercy; the people are out for blood.A few years later, however, Princess Emma stumbles upon an inconspicuous tower, one that hides more than just a few trinkets and old dresses as she once was led to believe.





	1. of dangerous wishes & spells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [villanellemills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/villanellemills/gifts), [soundslikehope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundslikehope/gifts), [Swan_mills7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swan_mills7/gifts).
  * Inspired by [time stands still (until i gaze upon you) [COVER ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476448) by [coffeesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesometime/pseuds/coffeesometime). 
  * Inspired by [Time stands still (until I gaze upon you) [ ART ]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405071) by [mippippippi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mippippippi/pseuds/mippippippi). 

> The 'Let's write again after SQSN (and create crazy ideas)' Chatzy in November last year is completely responsible for this. They are to blame for indulging me when I came up with this idea. (Seriously though: thank you.)
> 
> Thank you to my amazing cheerleaders (I had a team omg): **angeii_k**, **SapphicLittleThing**, **EvilQueenRegina2015** and **Kizurai**.
> 
> Thank you to the awesome hosts of SQ Supernova, whose diligent work makes this possible.
> 
> A special thanks to **soundslikehope**. Your encouraging support and your beautiful commentary kept me going as I'd struggle to figure out the story, and I can't thank you enough for being there throughout this journey and for making this fic a hundred times better with your suggestions. And **swan_mills7**, my other beta, who helped me very last-minute and made it a hundred times better too. Thank you both, so so much ♥ (This means: any mistakes are my own!)
> 
> I had _TWO_ INCREDIBLE artists this year, **coffeesometime** and **mippippippi**. Their arts have completely different styles and it's mind-blowing how they both captured the essence of this fic so beautifully. They both encouraged me and helped with the story in their own ways, and I'm so thankful, too. Please, please send them some love by clicking [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476448) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405071).
> 
> P.S.: I've set a work skin to this work, but you're able to hide it and still read it normally if you'd like. It looks very cool if I do say so myself. Let me know if there are any problems, though!
> 
> And, please, let me know what you think ♥ Love you all!!
> 
> —Vicky
> 
> UPDATE: the tag 'eventual happy ending' is there for a reason. i didn't want to spoil the story, but this will have two parts. i do say it in the end notes. i am writing the second part asap. anyway, if you're going to be rude about it, don't comment at all. thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story, as mentioned, is set in the Enchanted Forest, no First Dark Curse. It's extremely convoluted and I apologize in advance. It derives from the musical episode (don't worry, there's minimum singing involved). The idea came to me after I watched it again and thought over a _certain_ weird plot point (what else is new), which I won't mention to not give much away. It's not necessary to have watched it, however, but you can easily find the EF scenes/songs on Youtube anyway (EQ singing Love Doesn't Stand A Chance is worth it).
> 
> notes: the EF uses the gregorian calendar; the seasons follow the Southern Hemisphere temperate zone: spring - September, summer - December, autumn - March, and winter - June. it made more sense, so bear with me.
> 
> WARNING! a few chapters will contain depressed thinking and self-loathing. anyhow, i do my best to cw most things.

Prologue

* * *

#### — A U G U S T —

_Less than three months_

_before Emma’s birth_

_Our story begins in the Enchanted Forest — from Regina’s extinct kingdom, across the border (beyond the Dark Palace, long stretches of forest and its surrounding villages; beyond lakes, main roads and the troll bridge) to where the White Kingdom stands._

_It also begins around the time it takes for a Powerful Magic, the fall of the Evil Queen and the mercy of another queen to change the pathways of destiny (it does not take much time at all)._

_Two and twenty years before sides must be chosen and threats become a looming war, and before a prophecy of freedom is to be fulfilled at last._

_The Dark Ages are over and peace is felt in the surrounding lands, as the Royal Castle prepares for the arrival of the sweet, darling Princess Emma; now that it has been nearly a month since the Evil Queen's final defeat and her subsequent execution, the lives of those in the Enchanted Forest are at last, safe and sound._

_(Or so they were made to believe…)_

### 

#### — J U L Y —

_Exactly three months_

_before Emma's birth,_

_night of Regina's capture_

Regina is feeling dizzy, her body in pain; the spell’s somehow blocking her magic and thus harming her because she _ is _ magic. Magic is a part of her.

Although this worries her greatly, there are more pressing matters. Her guards nor the huntsman know she’s missing, and Daddy will never arrive fast enough. It’s a lost cause, for now. How could she have been so stupid?

(Truth is, Regina had been blinded by her unquenchable thirst for revenge.)

Charming keeps his hold on Regina while Snow guides them through the castle’s corridors. Snow’s head cannot process what’s happened in such a small amount of time. Blood still pumped with adrenaline, reeling from a battle that had had excellent results.

_ But at what cost? _thinks Snow absentmindedly, minding her step, treading carefully lest they alert the entire staff of their presence. 

And, despite the years away from the palace, her feet don’t hesitate. It’s like she’s never left at all. The long hallways, the places to avoid the staff, the fastest way out when things got too much after her mother’s death, they are all still deeply ingrained in her mind. She knows the way, just as someone picking up horse-riding after years without practice.

Snow knows the way and it’s bittersweet, to revisit this place that is. It hurts to be visiting it like this, with blood and war tainting their hands.

Working in sync to knock down the few guards doing their patrols in the dungeons, Snow and Charming make it out of the Evil Queen’s castle with few scraps and an oddly quiet prisoner in their possession.

Regina has to give the couple this one small victory — they were disgustingly clever. The dungeons are the least expected place for an escape such as this one, considering that the Magic Mirror must have already alerted her father and the guards.

Once they get to the forest, Regina briefly considers elbowing Charming and fleeing; the Dark Forest would provide enough shelter, long enough for her to run away. But the thought is torn apart as quickly as it sprouts. It will not do, for simple reasons: one, she’s never learned how to trek in the forest; two, she’s never been on the run; three, ex-bandit, Snow White, would catch her in a heartbeat with her eyes closed; and, last but not least, her hands remain tied in front of her.

No, it would not work.

_ There is nowhere to go, nowhere to run, _ Regina realizes suddenly, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Your majesties.” White Kingdom guards bow down and lead them to the waiting horses.

* * *

Dead fish and the sharp brine of the ocean assault their noses as they reach the abandoned docks. Snow and Charming made sure Hook really did know what he was doing, because there would certainly be an uproar and hunger for revenge if anyone were to see the captured Evil Queen.

There’s a chill in the air, it’s not a typical winter evening and goosebumps rise on Regina’s arms and neck. She briefly pictures the black cloak she had been wearing earlier that same day, thrown aside in her musical haste and annoyance, left behind carelessly in her chambers. She mourns its loss — she knows appropriate weather attire should be the last thing on her mind, but it did stray her thoughts from her sudden lack of a future, so she doesn’t mind.

The first stars of the night appearing are a beautiful sight, but Regina has the sudden urge to shout at the gods for not giving her a proper rain, a proper storm to match her foul mood and mark the path to her demise.

She doesn’t say a word as the guards lead her through the platform of the Jolly Roger, choosing to glare at the Charmings’ backs instead. The disgusting couple jumps down to the deck and Regina jolts, unceremoniously shoved forward.

None other than Captain Hook comes to greet them with an obnoxious smirk, which immediately falls once he finally sees _ who’s _ there with the royals.

“Your majesties.” He bows his head briefly. “I see you’ve gotten yourself a queen.” He shows Regina his teeth in a treacherous smile, eyebrows wiggling. It’s disgusting. She responds with a glare and pursed lips, not deigning to provide him with a proper answer.

Charming asks if there’s some place to keep the ‘Evil Queen’ contained until they are back at the Royal Castle — as if Regina were not present at the conversation — and Hook tells them his first mate will show them the way to the brig.

“Mr. Smee!” he calls.

“Aye, Captain!” A stout man wearing a red hat appears at their side, undoubtedly ‘Mr. Smee’ himself.

“Put the prisoner in the brig.” Hook motions with his one hand in the direction of the hatch, and Regina knows enough about ships to figure out that way leads below deck.

The guards nod to Snow and Charming, tightening their hold on her arms as they follow Mr. Smee down into the ship, not caring if her high-heeled boots get caught on the wooden stairs nor if she trips a few times. Their source of light is a hooded oil lamp on Mr. Smee’s hand, illuminating the rocking path in front of them.

Finally, they enter the brig, a dark and narrow room with two dirty empty cells. Mr. Smee opens the one to the right and the guards push her inside. Head held high, Regina turns in their direction, watching as the door is subsequently closed, key turned in the lock with a loud scraping sound that echoes in her ears and makes her teeth grind.

The clank of armor as the guards shuffle from the room feels magnified. Although they’ve left, the crewman hasn’t. She itches to grab hold of his neck with her magic and twist it, give some pain to avoid her own, however briefly that might be. Instead, she clenches her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, nearly drawing blood, and barks out, “What are you looking at?”

He jumps, and it is satisfying — the way she can still make people cower so easily despite her lack of magic. “N-nothing, Your Majesty.” Mr. Smee closes the outer door on his way out as quickly as he can, scurrying out of the brig.

Regina’s body almost topples forward against the bars of the cell as she grasps them, fatigue settling in now that the adrenaline is fading and giving way to mild panic. Her limbs ache from whatever spell had been inside that cursed box.

Still, she paces back and forth in her miniscule cell, trying to figure out how everything had gone wrong in a matter of a few hours. How was she captured? What was in that thing? 

_ Another prison, _ Regina thinks, taking a few shaky steps to sit down on the narrow cot bolted to the wall. Her corset digs into her ribs after a long day and she undoes the button holding her overcoat closed, shedding it hastily and throwing it aside with a grunt. _ Always trapped, one way or another. _

To make matters worse, Regina has to strain her eyes to try and peer into the gloom, and she is sure that’s a mouse in the corner of her cell. She doesn’t want to think about the dark too much, or memories — bad memories — will surface. And a queen does not show weakness, not even in solitude.

(A voice inside her head taunts her, asking her if she’s truly the queen anymore.

She doesn’t listen to it, not now.)

Anger and hatred are all she has left, so she will continue holding onto them for as long as she is able.

_ I hate Snow White. _

_ I hate Snow White. _

_ I hate— _

Holding her palm up in front of her, she summons with all her rage a fireball, but unlike her last failed attempt, not even a flame appears this time. Although she can feel her dark magic slithering beneath her skin, running through her veins sluggishly, something’s preventing her from tapping into her power. It’s simply... _ out of reach. _

Frowning, Regina tries again, her fingers trembling as she opens her hand once more, unable to believe that the one thing that had saved her once and set her free would fail her now, and ultimately imprison her.

This time’s different from the Charmings’ first successful trap. The fairy dust that they had used to contain her then hadn’t been as aggressive as whatever that spell that had backfired a few hours ago was. Come to think of it, the fairy dust hadn’t hurt her, only trapped her. And they hadn’t even interfered much; her failure was her own.

Whatever that green dust was, it’s now doing something to her magic. Will it dampen it until it’s rendered useless? Will she feel that pain again? Or will it wear off eventually?

A growl of frustration escapes her lips, and she stifles the urge to grab her hair and pull it, to undo the pins holding her hair up. Instead, she rubs her temples to relieve some of the pain of a starting headache.

She feels cold again. (Even so, in its place, numbness sets in.)

There’s nothing she can do, for now, but is she ready to give up?

She lies down, tears prickling in her eyes. The mere idea of giving Snow and her insipid prince the satisfaction of seeing her broken and sniveling on their feet makes her feel nauseous.

Though that could be the seasickness settling in, too.

* * *

While one fallen queen ponders upon her misery, another queen remains silent, pondering if their decisions were truly for the best, and letting her husband deal with Captain Hook.

“How long until our destination, pirate?” asks David, staring at the Endless Sea touched by the moonlight, the faraway mountains barely discernible in the distance. It could have been romantic, if it weren’t for the trapped witch far below their feet. He huddles closer to Snow, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“We’ll reach land before the morrow,” answers Hook from the helm. “This is the fastest ship in all the realms, after all… All very inconspicuous, too, if that’s what you’re going for.” 

Then, telling Mr. Smee to manage things for a while, he leaves his post and saddles beside the new Queen and her Prince near the rail where they stand. “I trust you won’t forget about our deal…” Hook says in a low tone.

“Of course not. Our deal still stands.”

Snow does not utter a word; wary and exhausted, she lays her head on Charming’s shoulder and closes her eyes. The sound of the waves does nothing to quench the nervous feeling crawling on her shoulders.

* * *

“Snow, are you okay?” Charming follows her inside their quarters. Snow hurries to the balcony, breathing in the night air with relief.

“The wish worked. Why do I…” _ feel as if we've made a terrible mistake? _She sighs, shakes her head, a more pertinent question tugging and demanding time inside her head. “Did we do the right thing?” Snow overlooks the kingdom, bracing her hands against the cold stone. She does not regret going to the Dark Castle. “Making the deal with Hook?” she clarifies, making sense of what exactly was not sitting well with her.

Charming stays silent, wraps her into his arms from behind, dropping a kiss to her head. He doesn’t placate her but wonders why she’s so worried about this. Their lives are _ safe, _ their future is _ safe. _ They took the necessary precautions to guarantee that.

But still...

“Did we do the right thing?” Snow asks again, quietly, not any louder than the sound of crickets chirping in the night, and something in her tone makes Charming hold her a little bit tighter.

“We’re doing what’s best for Emma.”

Snow lowers her head and whispers, “Rumplestiltskin will be dead. And that’s our fault.”

“And the Evil Queen was caught. I’d say it’s a small price to pay for our daughter’s future.”

Snow reflects upon that. “You’re right. I must be tired, that's all,” she sighs. “I should get some rest—”

Charming touches her arm, and says, “Snow, look!” while watching the night sky.

“Blue!” says Snow, surprised. The Blue Fairy lands next to them on the balcony. _ “You _ granted the wish.”

The fairy nods her head with a smile. 

“It worked,” the Prince says. “The Evil Queen’s song was taken from her.”

“No, no one can do that,” replies Blue. “It’s still inside her. It’s still inside _ everyone. _Regina has lost touch with it because her dark magic was taken from her.” 

The Charmings never asked _ how. _All that mattered had been Regina’s defeat.

Blue then explains that the magic from the wish was never intended to be used against the Evil Queen, however.

Charming gives Snow a sidelong glance, bewildered. “Then, who is it for?” he asks.

Raising her arm, the tip of Blue’s wand glows with blue sparkles and she directs the magic to Snow’s belly, and the Queen gapes at it no less confused than before.

“For Emma,” answers Blue, finally. “You wished that she could have a chance for a happy ending. And now, with everyone’s song in her heart, she will.”

“I don’t understand… why? I mean— how does that help her?”

Although fairies cannot predict the future, do not possess the all-seeing powers from The Seer or the recently deceased Rumplestiltskin, they do carry _ prophecies. _Entire books full of them.

“One day,” says the Blue Fairy, uncertain as to the full meaning of this particular prophecy, “she will face a battle like no one has faced before. And I’m afraid she’ll have to face it alone.” (What she doesn’t mention is prophecies are always open to different interpretations.)

Snow shakes her head. “But she won’t be alone. She’ll have the voices of the people who love her inside of her.” She’s sure of this. 

“In the morning, everyone else will have forgotten they ever sang in the first place. We were supposed to forget it as well, though with the Evil Queen’s capture that might not be well advised. The three of you and I will be the only ones to remember. That way the songs will remain safe.”

“We will do our best to tell her of her power.” They nod like they understand, like they know anything about the battle Emma will have to face. Blue thinks hopefully, looking at them, that even if they don’t understand it, they’ll protect Emma with all they have.

“And then we’ll just have to hope that it’ll find its way to the surface when she needs you the most,” she completes.

* * *

In the morning, after breakfast, the council is gathered for their emergency meeting. Decisions— what to do with the Evil Queen, the first of them.

“I say we do what we shoulda done the last time we got the chance.” Grumpy pauses, looking seriously at the people around the round table, a gleam in his eyes. “Burn the witch.”

Snow White gasps, though she’s not sure why. She knew this was a real possibility, and now wonders why she hadn’t kept Regina’s capture a secret. Why did she and Charming have to tell the council?

“Grumpy,” she chastises.

“What?” he shrugs. “It’s true, sister.”

No one opposed the idea outright, though silence is felt when they realize Snow’s not happy with it.

“We’ve given her enough chances,” Granny says. “We were foolish enough once, and look what she did.”

“Yes, but last night we went looking for her,” Snow adds. “Not the other way around.”

“Snow, this is our chance to protect Emma,” Charming tries to reason.

“Not like this.” Her tone is strict and clear, not open to further debate. “The box has dampened her magic. She’s powerless.”

He sighs.

“All the more reason to take action,” Doc provides.

“Your majesty, I fear we can't afford another lost opportunity,” Jiminy Cricket states. “The Evil Queen is beyond redemption; we’ve seen it firsthand.”

“No, I don’t want... There has to be another way!” Snow shakes her head, conflicted. “I do not wish—”

“An execution is more than fair, after everything she’s done,” Gepetto says.

“Her terms were quite clear, your majesty,” Red adds. “She has tried to harm you, to harm all of us again. She disobeyed the order of her banishment the moment she threatened everyone at your wedding. And then with this recent attack at her palace... This is our opportunity to make things right.”

“I will think about it. Leave us.”

* * *

“Charming, I will not even consider it,” Snow says, and Charming can feel her distress as if it were his own. “We are not murderers. I… I can’t believe we are having this discussion again. I am determined to put an end to this as much as they are, but that is not the way to do it!”

He places his hands on her arms, caressing them to dissipate some of her tension. “Ok. Take some deep breaths for me.” Smiling softly when she does, he hugs her to his chest, and continues, “I’m on your side, Snow. I don’t completely agree with it, but you two have a complicated history, and it’s hard to let go of the woman she was before all this mess. I respect that.”

The first sob makes Charming hold her tighter; feeling her shoulders shake as she sobs. “S-s-sorry,” she mumbles to his chest.

“It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

They stand there for a few moments in silence while Snow sniffles. “The pregnancy is leaving me out of sorts. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart.”

Snow places her hand on his cheek. “Do you really…” she sighs. “The council won’t… They won’t find it agreeable if we put a stop to this. Just like the last time.”

Charming nods, trying his best not to smile at Snow’s calculating look as he kisses her palm. “The people will riot,” he reminds her.

“They already know, don’t they?”

“Grumpy spread the news at dawn.”

“Of course he did.”

“The castle knows, at least. I’m sure the surrounding villages will in no time. People talk. They’ll be clamoring for her blood.”

Snow’s eyes widen suddenly. “So we give them what they want.”

“What? But I thought—”

“We show them what they want to _ see.” _


	2. the pathways of destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: non-graphic depictions of violence

The next night, Snow calls for the Blue Fairy on the balcony. Charming’s there, too, his hand a comforting presence on the small of his beloved’s back.

“Are you sure, your majesties? Omitting the truth from the Kingdom?”

“Blue, I can’t have more death on our hands,” Snow replies earnestly. “We’ve had more than enough in the war. It’s over now.”

“What would you suggest,” Charming asks her, “to give the people what they want, and yet…?”

The fairy grips her wand against her stomach, lowering her head as she thinks, or at least pretends to, a plan already on its first stages inside her head. “There… there is an enchantment. I could freeze time on her cell, yes, as you inquired after, Snow.”

It would require taking the Time part from a certain dark spell for reference… It’s for the greater good, Blue tells herself.

Snow nods, a small smile on her features.

“Whether I could save her from her execution while still showing the witnesses proof she’s… well…” Blue looks away, unable to pronounce the words. “That could be done. I’d have to check in my books, however.”

“Take your time, Blue. And thank you for your help.”

Blue bows and pops her wings out, becoming a small fairy once more. “I will be back in two days’ time.”

* * *

Regina should be accustomed to the feeling of knowing she’ll be facing her own death yet again (and this time, there’ll be no mercy, she’s well aware).

Still, as much as she tries and tries to rationalize it, she is not ready.

Everything feels similar, even in a physical aspect. Her baggy dress and scuffed boots, her sunken cheeks due to the lack of proper meals, her magicless body. Things are also similar in a symbolical sense, because Snow White and Prince Charming are ready to execute her at any moment and those people out there will be happy to witness her demise.

Then there’s the dungeon, which she’d escaped the first time she’d been imprisoned — a development which adds to the psychological torture she’s feeling. The way her teeth chattered uncontrollably at night when she attempted to sleep was something new; the thin, ratty blanket she’d been provided with did nothing against the cold. Water drops fall constantly on small puddles, the sound grating on her last nerve. Mice run here and there, too, and she’s taken to staying hidden on her small, uncomfortable pile of straw as much as possible. The stench of decay, mildew and ashes is overpowering; she’s gagged more than once.

If last time she’d had a few commodities, this time she is definitely being considered a more important prisoner, no concessions.

One thing she can still manage, though, is to appear unaffected when the sound of unfamiliar footsteps reaches her ears. Regina quickly rises, her lunch or dinner (who knows what time it is — they always serve lumpy porridge, anyhow) threatening to make a return, her breathing short and fickle whenever she hears a strange sound.

She straightens her shoulders and lets a mask of indifference fall upon her features, even if fear is clear in her eyes.

Regina might be locked up, yes, but they’ve seen enough; this is as low as it could get. They will not see her weak; she is many things, but weak is _ not _one of them.

* * *

Prince Henry wished once upon a time that he never had to see his daughter like this again, imprisoned for crimes she committed because her heart felt too strongly until it felt practically nothing, because life had never been kind to her, because he never protected her like he should have.

The guilt eats him from inside out, an insect festering upon wounds accumulated over the years when he stood by and did nothing on several different occasions.

“You have a visitor,” the guard says and leaves promptly.

He hears a gasp, and then, “Daddy.”

Regina says it so softly he has to strain his old ears to hear her properly.

_ “Mija,” _ he answers, and his daughter lowers her head, biting her lip against the tears threatening to overflow her, memories of simpler (but no less difficult) times in their minds’ eye with a single word. They both know that if she doesn’t hold those tears back, she might not stop evermore. And Regina does not appreciate showing her weaknesses.

He comes closer and touches the bars. “There was no time to—”

“I… I know. It’s not your fault.”

“What’s happened, Regina? Was it the spell?”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

Henry sighs. “That’s fine, my child.”

Regina moves closer, grasping his hands in hers, her forehead against the iron. She closes her eyes and exhales shakily. “I’m sorry. I know you are disappointed.”

His hand caressing her hair, Henry stays quiet, lips downturned.

Eventually, Regina raises her head and admits, “I couldn’t let it go. And there will be no third… no fourth chances.” She laughs bitterly, her voice breaking when she says, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m disappointed in _ myself, _Regina. I failed you all those years ago, when I didn’t protect you from Cora.”

And then there’s no holding those tears back.

* * *

Her next meal is roasted chimera and potatoes. Charming personally delivers it to her, saying nothing as he leaves. Regina only manages a few bites before the food refuses to settle and makes a return to the floor.

Her next meal was actually her _ last _ meal, she realizes, and now panic has finally set in.

It is a lie, a cruel ruse, but Regina does not know that. Charming intercepted her lunch porridge and traded it for a grand meal fit for a royal.

(Snow doesn’t know. Snow wouldn’t approve if she knew he was capable of such a petty act.

He doesn’t dwell on it too much. Regina will not die, but that did not mean she could not suffer a little.)

* * *

For Regina, everything blurs together to culminate in an immobile stupor. There are people from her past lurking in the ominous shadows, deformed by the flickering fire, and Regina can’t quite distinguish anymore whether the sorrowful cries from other prisoners aren’t of her own monstrous nightmares.

And so she focuses on her labored breathing, crossing her arms tightly over her restless frame, and doesn’t dare to move.

Bile rises in her throat again when the guards sporting the White Kingdom crest come into view a few hours later.

(One hour later— time is an illusion inside a dungeon lit by torchlights.)

She swallows the bitter taste down as they cuff her wrists with tight leather straps, hands clenched into fists.

The two guards finally escort her to the courtyard like they are dragging around a heavy bag of flour — her body caught up before her head that this… this really was the end.

Her eyes squint against the harshness of sunlight; it takes some time to adjust.

It’s the same— the place of her execution, that is. She glares at the several guards and townspeople present; the true demise of the Evil Queen is met with a larger assembly than the previous one. Then, her dark eyes find Snow White and Prince Charming sitting on the royal chairs, blank expressions clashing with the pleased smirks on several of the others present. Next to them, the nauseating bunch that always follows Snow.

Some twisted sort of comfort blooms in her chest. _ It’s the same, _ sans the final surprise, of course — nothing will save her this time.

(It’s quite cruel to realize she’d been living on borrowed time.) 

While being secured to the pole, Regina avoids Daddy’s heart-wrenched look with all her might, stomach churning once more, her palms sweating.

_ It’s the same, _ down to the holier-than-thou cricket flying in her direction.

“Regina. If there are any last wo—” he starts, but Regina shakes her head, nips the rest in the bud.

No, she does not wish to clear her conscience. No, she has nothing else to say. _ It’s over. _

She takes those final moments to stare at her father and convey just how much she loves him, and how deeply sorry she is — not strong enough to let go of her painful past.

A hush falls over the crowd. Nobody dares say anything.

Charming stands up from his seat, signaling to the guards to prepare their arrows, and another to blindfold Regina, who leans her head back against the wooden pole, exhaling shakily. From the safety of her blindfold, Regina allows herself to shed a few tears, allows herself to be frightened in the face of the unknown.

“Take your aim!” tells Charming to the guards. They aim their crossbows at the Evil Queen, and Snow stands, too.

Contradicting herself, for she cannot bear to watch it anymore, she clasps her hand in his, stopping him from saying the word. _ “Loose!” _ she hears herself shout firmly. Regina’s body twitches sharply.

The guards let the bowstring go swiftly; arrows rush past with unnerving accuracy—

—until they pierce the Evil Queen’s pounding heart.

Snow recoils from the violent sound, squeezing her eyes shut and protecting her belly instinctively as Regina gurgles for her last breath, agonizing.

_ It’s over. _

* * *

####  **_Emerald Castle, at the Land of Oz_**

_ Where is my victory? _

She blinks once, twice, and then turns her head away, suddenly uncomfortable. She caused that. She waves off the image of Regina’s death once the guards begin to take away her lifeless, bloody body like it weighs nothing — a rag doll and nothing more — something clawing up her throat that she attributes to the beginning of a cold.

(It is not a cold, though Zelena cannot understand what it could be, no.)

There’s no shutting off the gasps of the crowd as they realize that yes, Regina is a mortal being, witches are mortal beings, and now she’s _ dead. _

Zelena wonders if they are cheering now.

Her hands shake minutely. It won’t do to dwell on could-have-beens—

“Well, there’s that. It is unfortunate we did not get the chance to meet…” she says to no one in particular, shrugging her shoulders. “Ta-ta, Sis.”

She coughs, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat.

(It does not work, and she forgets about it. Yes, definitely a cold.)

“Now, my pet,” she says to her flying monkey, “I believe it is time we paid Rumplestiltskin a little visit, wouldn’t you agree?”


	3. it was enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some mentions of blood and accidental self-harm

Charming adjusts her position with a grunt when he climbs the final steps of the tower. She’s dead-weight in his arms. He turns to the left once inside the cell and places her on the cot, removes the blindfold covering her eyes and, with a last disgusted look on his face, leaves the cell, closing it with a bang and a turn of the key on its lock.

She opens her eyes slowly. _ “I am not dead,” _ Regina mouths, inhaling sharply from her nose when she pats her chest several times and not a single injury is felt from her fingertips. _ Why didn’t I die? _

She looks around, her mind still not fully grasping what’s happened. She’s not dead, and she is not in the dungeons anymore. They couldn’t do it, again, couldn’t fulfill their promise to finish her once and for all. Why’s she not in the dungeons, then? Why is it that she’s back in this tower, with its bench by the narrow and rusty window, the cold masonry, the dusty cobblestone floor, and the single lone candle to serve as her only amusement?

Pressing her hand against her chest, she frowns. The pain had been real. She’d felt it. She’d felt the arrows piercing her lungs and her heart, cracking her ribs, blood pooling in her mouth until she’d passed out, gasping for another breath.

Regina sits up, hugging herself tight, eyes closed against phantom pains.

_ What happened— _

_ I was sure— _

_ —not dead— _

_ What _changed?

Her brain is going too fast for her to make sense of the last hours.

“Regina,” a most irksome voice calls.

(Snow White can be very impulsive; yet, she’d managed to wait two hours before... ‘visiting’.)

Regina jumps a little, though she’d never admit it. Mask perfectly in place, she slowly raises her head in Snow’s direction, giving away none of her turmoil. “Yes, dear?”

“You are probably wondering why you’re here,” Snow says carefully.

“Hmm.” Regina pretends to glance around seriously while mentally attempting to get a grip on herself and her tired body; it feels too vulnerable to keep herself in bed. “Better accommodations, I suppose…” she trails off, getting up, knees still shaking uncontrollably.

Her boots are loud against the stone floor as she takes the few steps to reach the bars, nose to nose with Snow, who opens and closes her mouth, struggling with her words at first.

“I shall tell you the truth,” she settles, finally, her gaze steady. “It’s the only thing you deserve.”

“Oh!” Regina mock-gasps, hands covering her mouth. “Is that cold feet I hear?”

Snow continues despite the interruption, not letting the other woman shake her resolve. “You’re here for one simple reason, Regina… Our people believe you to be dead.”

There, she said it.

Regina chuckles in amusement, and then… _ then _ she slowly realizes Snow is not lying.

_ Our people believe you to be dead— you are dead, dead, dead, dead _

It echoes in her pounding head, face turning ashen.

“They—?” Her shaking knees lock, and she throws herself at the bars as a crutch, one arm jerkily extended beyond them to grab Snow’s neck with an animalistic growl.

Snow moves out of the way just in time, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver; she’d expected an aggressive reaction.

(Although nothing could have prepared her for this.)

“What have you done?” Regina asks loudly, eyes wide and blazing with anger and despair. The irony of the similarities between this moment and the time Prince Charming had been captured is not lost on her. There’s no answer to her question as Snow’s eyes flash with something akin to _ doubt. _ Regina spits out, “I said, WHAT have you done, _ Snow White!” _

Snow jumps, but holds her ground.

“Answer me!” Regina demands one more time, her knuckles now white from her tight grip on the bars.

Snow, trying to convince herself as much as Regina, raises her chin as she says earnestly, “I _ know _ there is still good in you, Regina. And it wouldn’t be fair to give up now. I wouldn’t be able…” _ to live with myself _ is left unsaid; she shakes herself before she gives _ that _thought away. “You shall stay here until you’re ready to repent, until the darkness in your heart fades and you are ready to start over.”

Letting her hands drop to her sides, Regina scoffs in disbelief, and takes a step back, disgusted. “You’re more pathetic than I’d realized…” She marvels at Snow’s stupidity. “If you are looking for a few words of praise because you’ve spared this _ poor woman’s life _ once again,” she pouts mockingly, “you’ve come in vain.”

Snow sighs, looking away. “I know.”

“Then _ what _ do you want?” she asks with a patronizing expression. “I hope you realize you’re making a mistake.”

Snow’s features harden at that word, _ mistake, _ as if she’d eaten something sour; she takes a few steps forward, loathing the grains of love for Regina — those specks still present in her heart that did not permit her to commit murder for all the pain this woman had caused.

“They wanted your blood. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead. So yes, Regina, I did in fact spare your life. Again.”

“Couldn’t go through with your threat from the last time I was here, then, hmm? Do you remember what you said, dear? I think it was something along the lines of killing me if I ever hurt anyone again in your precious kingdom. Whatever made you change your mind?”

“I couldn’t— couldn’t do it. I couldn’t, Regina,” says Snow, a lump in her throat. And with a heavy sigh, she promises, “Until tomorrow,” taking her leave before the urge to cry becomes too strong, her skirts swooshing as she swivels on her feet.

“Don’t you _ dare— SNOW WHITE!” _ Regina spits out her name, breaking out in a cold sweat. She inhales hard and deeply, blinking away the blank spots in her vision. Her knees give out as she lowers herself to the floor to avoid passing out from the sudden dizziness.

_ I hate you, Snow White._ _I hate you, I hate all of you— _

“DON’T YOU DARE!” screams Regina. “Don’t you dare do this to me,” her voice cracks.

That day, Regina grieves, curled into a ball on the cold, cold floor.

(She mourns her own self.)

* * *

If there’s one thing Snow White much despises, it is the feeling of not being fully right on a situation. Regina’s screams will haunt her dreams, the brief fear she saw in her eyes when the truth was revealed… it had not been a pleasant sight.

Snow wonders if she should have just decreed Regina was to live her days locked up and handled the repercussions with her council —her friends—, and the people of her kingdom later.

But now, now it’s too late, now everyone believes Regina is dead.

_ Even her own father, _ her mind supplies ungratefully as she enters her quarters in a haste. She sits down on the bed, a wave of nausea leaving her unsteady while she continues to think about her recent decisions.

A knock on the door interrupts her musings, and she rises with difficulty, fighting the exertion on her very much pregnant body.

“Enter,” she says.

“Your majesty,” says her steward, “King David has called upon a meeting with the council to decide what’s the best course of action, especially with the prisoners, the castle’s servants and all the villages surrounding the… fallen kingdom. Hundreds of hearts were found in the Dark Palace. We are unsure as to whom they belong, however.”

Snow’s cheeks flare up and her eyes harden with anger. Her heart thudding hard from the sudden emotion reminding her there were those who were not so fortunate as to keep their own hearts inside their chests.

_ This _ is why Regina was imprisoned for life and why Snow shouldn’t feel such compassion. The Evil Queen deserves the punishment.

It was enough, saving her life.

* * *

Four days later, a magical barrier is placed on her tiny cell, one that shocks and hurts her whenever she comes in contact with it. This is a worse fate than the squid ink used to imprison Rumplestiltskin.

The first few subsequent days, she hurled herself more than once at the iron bars, screaming over and over again not from the physical burns the barrier caused, but from those burns inside of her.

Regina also cried.

She cried until her eyes were dry, until she could not seem to cry anymore, but then, to her surprise… when midnight strikes, her voice is back to normal, her eyes do not feel scratchy anymore, her burns are healed. She repeats the same day, over and over, time frozen, as if mocking her dark curse—

That first day, hiding the second-degree burn on her hand, Regina refused to show just how fearful she was of this awful place, which led to the most infuriating conversation—

“What did you do to me,” Regina asked, said, _ demanded, _ her tone harsh and filled with hatred.

“This will be a chance to start over, Regina. When you are ready to ask for forgiveness, that is.”

She shall not age, while Snow White becomes a wrinkled old lady.

Regina smirked, not holding back her derisive laugh. _ “Never,” _ she said with certainty, all but dismissing Snow, as though the fallen queen were still a royal. “I shall _ never _ ask for _ forgiveness,” _she spat the word out.

Snow would blabber about the most inconsequential things, really, like Regina cared.

Like Regina cared if the peasants were making preparations for the Spring Festival or if the White Kingdom (read: Snow White) had decided to align with her own fallen kingdom’s politics concerning the wolves and, therefore, hunting the hunters. Like Regina cared they were adding the last touches to the nursery or that Granny had to knit a new baby blanket because Regina had ripped the other one in half.

Like Regina absolutely, truly cared.

Reminiscing, a chuckle bubbles up from her dry throat, sharp and cutting against the silence. Snow White is a fool. A self-righteous idiotic fool.

Regina’s destiny is cruel and that chuckle soon grows, turns into high-pitched laughter, her shoulders shaking, head thrown back. She laughs and laughs; her stomach cramping from the lack of air, tears trailing down her face.

She laughs, until she cries.

* * *

When Zelena first realizes she’ll have to leave Oz behind, it’s a logical conclusion. Her plan had worked, Regina is dead. Regina is dead, and there’s nothing in the way of showing Rumplestiltskin _ he had chosen the wrong one. _

So there are preparations and enchanted mirrors and etcetera etcetera, her mind is a constant buzz of energy as she relishes her future moments of glory.

_ ‘The pain I knew when Rumple turned his back on my heart,’ _ she mouths unconsciously to herself, sealing shut another of her trunks for the upcoming trip with a wave of her hand, _ ‘at last will be Regina's when her life falls apart.’ _

She grinds her teeth after she registers her own words, her own song without a melody (she cannot, cannot recall the melody as much as she tries) reminding her of her role in Regina’s life falling apart once and for all.

It wasn’t even brought on by her own hand, which had been _ very unfortunate indeed. _

(Her stomach revolts against that thought, and she ignores it, throws a vase of flowers at the wall instead and forgets, forgets, forgets about the chronic stomach pains.)

She’s packing a few weeks ahead of leaving, yes, but it’s not as if she has anything better to do with her time; the munchkins and their silly hats and smelly flowers could rot away and still she wouldn’t care.

Days before her servants are to be brought to the Dark Palace, Zelena decides it is time to pay Rumple a visit.

Imagine her surprise when she enters the Dwarf Mines, hands crackling with magic, lips pursed in determination, giddiness written on her features, ready to gloat… only to find a pile of dust and no Dark One in sight.

Zelena screams herself hoarse that night.


	4. haunting decisions

She has no magic.

At the complete mercy of her enemies, is being alive truly that much of a blessing?

She has no magic.

_ “It’s over, Regina.” _

She’d opened the box, staring with rage into their eyes as she sang the final verse, 

Let us see how strong you are,

when everything is spoken 

and she had been so sure of her win, confident in her curse prevailing. Her happy ending was within reach, her revenge was close. And no silly song about ‘love’ would change that.

So Regina had opened the box, and green wisps of light spilled from it. Green of the likes she had never seen before, but when she’d examined the magic contained inside, it seemed to be just what she needed. However, the question of where she’d acquired it couldn’t be ignored; it had simply turned up in her vault…

_ … just like that. _

She should have been more cautious, Regina can admit it now.

The few seconds she distracted herself were enough — when she blinked again, she realized the magic was not involving either of her enemies as she’d predicted.

No, the green magic had seeped into her own body; her eyes widened, a small thread of fear burning inside her chest, but there just wasn’t enough time to react as her lungs didn’t supply her with air and her skin burned from the inside out. What was happening? What was this?

With Charming’s sword still poised close to her throat, and the sudden immobility the green magic provided, Regina had had nowhere to go.

Her hand went suddenly limp, closing the lid of the wooden music box inadvertently, and she gasped, able to breathe again, the sensation of a million pinpricks on her skin disappearing abruptly.

The confusion etched on the Charmings’ features was certainly mirrored on her own, but they recovered faster than she did, their wretched song starting over, which meant the box had failed to help her.

She’d failed.

She’d failed...

She faltered back a step, her limbs not doing much to support her, and perhaps the one thing that prevented her from falling was the table behind her, which served as a crutch for her dizziness, her breathing short and erratic.

Regina tried to summon a fireball on her trembling hand, but it was as if water was being poured on the flames every time she did so, until it flickered so badly it was extinguished. She couldn’t feel her magic anymore, and that filled her with panic faster than she could acknowledge properly how, in a matter of seconds, she’d be in real danger.

_ T-the song! _ her mind provided in her desperation, a last resort. She shouted, _ “Down with love!” _ in normal speaking tones and closed her mouth subsequently after, the melody of her song foggy in her mind.

“She can’t sing!” Snow had said, coming to the same conclusion: her musical voice had been absorbed by the magic. “Charming, quick!”

He moved behind Regina, locking the sword closer against her neck. “It’s over, Regina.”

She struggled against his grip, but it was futile.

“Mirror!” she shouted. Charming nearly nicked her skin for it as a warning. “Oh, would you calm down. Can’t I ask for him to tell my father of my whereabouts?”

“Fine, but make it quick.”

“Your Majesty, you called?”

_ “Go find my father.” _

One, two, three steps snap her out of her musings, making her realize she’d completely zoned out; a scuff against the rock floor, five more steps up the stairs until high-heeled boots stop abruptly. Then there’s the sound of the torch being placed on its handle, and Regina doesn’t turn around from her position at the hard mattress. She thought that maybe, if she stared long enough at the walls and stood still, Snow White and her elephant feet would leave her be and go back to her _ perfect _ little world.

Regina tightens her hand into a fist, the anger so easily clawing up from her feet to her head, a vicious blood-boiling nasty thing that consumes her simply by the sound of a well-rehearsed throat being cleared.

“I know you are awake,” Snow says, like they’ve done this the day before, and the day before that, and so on; the truth is, they _ have. _ The small tally marks Regina carves against stone every day are the proof of that. It’s been two months.

It doesn’t matter if Regina wants to ignore her. She _ can’t. _

Snow is her evidence of the passing of days, and she knows she cannot give it up.

Regina maneuvers from the sorry excuse of a bed, unable to help herself from doing so at the slowest pace possible, as if she has all the time in the world.

(She wishes that weren’t true.)

She spares herself the trouble of glancing at the insipid queen, making a beeline for the window closest to the stool and pretending to care about the world outside. The sun illuminates the cobbled courtyard down below, though she was sure today would be another chilly day. She hasn’t had the energy to properly ask for another blanket. (She will not, anyhow.)

“What do you want this time? Come to gloat again, hmm?” Regina asks tiredly and rolls her eyes — it’s just like Snow to stay silent until Regina inevitably caves.

“I never gloat. _ You _ did, until the last possible moment, if I can recall correctly, _ stepmother.” _

“How dare you!” Regina shouts, turning in a swift move. She steps closer until the hastiness of her movements almost reach the point of stupidity, for the sparks on the magic barrier flicker and hurtle toward the former queen, famished for her as if sensing her own brand of magic. Regina stops herself just in time, taking a step back, but lashes out, tone sharp and cutting, “You would do well to remember not to call me that, or you’ll wish… you’ll wish…” she splutters in rage, the vein in her forehead pronounced. “I was never your stepmother, _ Snow White, _ and you are _ not—” _

“Mmm. I see.” Snow touches her belly, gives Regina that placating smile, the smile that translated to ‘I know best, and Regina fell for my goading at last’, with her tilted head and stretched lips.

It almost makes Regina throw caution to the wind and attempt to push her hands through the bars, no matter the burns, no matter the mind-numbing pain. All that would matter was Snow White’s neck squeezed tight between her hands. Squeezed tight until the lack of air became too much and Snow White succumbed to _ death. _

The image is a pretty one, Regina muses… Snow gasping for her last breath. It would be worth the time already spent inside this prison.

Because she _ will _ leave this place. It’s only a matter of _ when, _ not _ if. _

Subsequently she remembers there’s no way of harming a single hair in Snow’s head in this realm. And, Regina reminds herself as her eyes flicker to the woman’s stomach, there’s a _ bundle of joy _ growing inside her.

The fire in Regina’s eyes dim and fizzle out, until charred wood is all that’s left; a fine metaphor for her own life.

It’s not even entertaining; this back and forth. There’s no fight in Snow’s words, merely the smugness of someone who’s finally gotten what she wanted: Regina’s response; Regina’s attention; Regina’s imprisonment; Regina’s freedom.

Meanwhile… Snow knows Regina’s been very subdued lately, so this kind of response is highly treasured by her. It’s jarring, seeing her like this: tired, bags under her eyes, pale, too skinny. Regina’s always looked like a force to be reckoned with.

“When I leave this hellhole, you are _ dead, _Snow. Now… Go,” Regina says angrily, “away.”

Shaking her head, Snow’s eyebrows furrow in discontent. She does not enjoy resorting to those words. “Well, Regina, despite your wishes,” she adds, “I shall be here tomorrow, so don’t bother. I thought it would be of your interest to know the wolf hunters were found today at dawn.”

Regina’s nostrils flare, “I don’t care.”

“Your food will arrive shortly,” Snow continues, not caring for Regina’s sharp responses.

“I don’t care!” she shouts, the sound rattling off the stones. 

* * *

Snow closes the tower’s door with a bang, something dark festering in her heart. Unclenching her jaw with difficulty, she then covers her eyes with her hands as she draws in slow, steady breaths.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she mutters, finally composing herself with one more sharp inhale, brushing away angry tears she hadn’t realized were there. She briskly makes her way through the empty, abandoned corridor, entering the secret passageway built especially for this purpose.

In a matter of ten minutes, she’s back in her chambers. “Call for my husband,” she requests of one of her personal guards, who lowers his head in acquiescence and goes to do as asked.

Walking inside the bathing room adjacent to her quarters, she pours some lukewarm water in a small basin and dips a cloth into it, wringing it out twice. She carefully places it on the nape of her neck with a heavy sigh.

Eventually, another hand envelops hers, and the smell of her husband’s perfume drifts to her. He removes the cloth, setting it aside on the basin.

“Hi. I’ve missed you,” she says with tears in her eyes, turned in his direction.

“I’ve missed you too.” Charming gives her a kiss on the lips, smiling. “Come here, let’s sit down,” he says, guiding her back to the settee in front of their four-poster bed. “I’m going to order some tea for us. It doesn’t do well if you get overworked.”

Snow nods, hands on her ever growing belly at the reminder of the precious little life inside.

“Bring us some chamomile tea and biscuits. A piece of chocolate as well,” she hears him say to one of the servants, and smiles fondly at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you, that will be all.”

She’s been craving chocolate a lot lately.

While they wait, Charming sits down next to her and pulls her close, kissing her forehead, but does not request that she speak, and Snow’s glad for a few moments of silence next to him. When their tray arrives on the dumbwaiter, Charming adds two spoons of sugar just the way she likes it; her sweet tooth heightened by the pregnancy.

“Charming…” Snow whispers once she has her cup of tea in her hands, staring at the liquid as if it will provide her all the answers. “She is awful.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and instead takes a sip of his own drink, resettling the cup in its saucer with a clink. He then sets it on the small table.

“She doesn’t listen!” Snow continues. “She… she… she finds ways to rile me up and I’m not sure I like who I am around her.”

He kneels before her on the floor after removing the cup from her hands, takes her hands in his, and reminds her gently, “Snow… she doesn’t— you don’t have to keep doing this. She doesn’t deserve your kindness. She doesn’t deserve anything from you.”

“She doesn’t, yes,” she tells him slowly. _ Why am I doing this, then? _

Snow remembers a disguised queen who had come so close to giving up on her revenge if that meant being good again, if that meant being... loved.

_ (“So if she... if she wanted to change, if she wanted to be a family again, if she... wanted to be good, would you forgive her for that? Would you let her back in?” _

_ “If she really meant it, yes. I would love that. I wouldn't mind a feather bed either, but neither one is happening. So there's no use thinking about it. She won't offer.”) _

“She’s afraid,” Snow says in a broken voice, and squeezes his fingers just slightly. He squeezes her fingers back. “Of having someone on her side. And what that means. But… I’m scared,” she whispers.

David sighs, getting up to sit down next to her once more. He plays with her fingers, contemplating the issue. He’s aware Snow will always hold a place in her heart for Regina, and he can’t fully understand it, no. But now Regina is locked away; she can’t harm them directly. He just has to make sure she doesn’t harm them indirectly either.

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “It’s okay. Maybe your visits don’t have to be as frequent, or, or… not as long? Just ask her if she needs anything, then leave.” He shrugs. “I brought food to her earlier, and she usually leaves it untouched.”

Snow hums, leaning forward to get a piece of chocolate. “Yes,” she says, nibbling at it. “Time… it’s frozen, there. She doesn’t really _ need _ food. I thought, perhaps, for the routine?” She shakes her head. “But she couldn’t care less about it. She doesn’t seem to care at all.”

“Just… don’t do more than you’re able, Snow.” David finishes, caressing her knee gently. “We’ve given her so many chances— I don’t think… well, only time will tell if she’s truly changed.”


	5. magical lines and silhouettes

#### — O C T O B E R —

On the 22nd of October, Princess Emma Ruth is born prematurely, as was meant to be.

(Though the Dark Curse will not keep this family apart this time.)

* * *

Doc said there was still another month to go, that her daughter was to be born almost in the summer, so why is Snow in such pain _ now? _

_ Is she alright? Will she be alright? _ Charming asked, nerves overcoming him once he felt Snow’s tight grip on his arm whenever another contraction hit. Doc had been quick to reassure him.

“Just one more push, your majesty,” he’s saying now, and Charming’s quite sure his hand will be sore from Snow’s strong hold; it matters not, because the one doing the hard work here is her, not him.

Snow screams and pushes and every pain in the realm is worth it for this moment: A little pink baby’s cries filling the room until she’s finally placed in Snow’s arms.

The baby closes her eyes as Snow and Charming coo softly.

* * *

It’s nearing nighttime when it happens. Snow White had been due to have a baby any day now and so had ceased to visit Regina as frequently as before, perhaps once or twice in the previous month if possible, because she could not stress herself or the baby too much.

(If only the fallen queen knew this was to be the day chosen to cast the curse...)

While one woman is giving birth, in another portion of the castle another wakes up with a gasp, clutching her chest with her hand. Elation spreads through her unexpectedly, and a sob breaks free unbidden; as if her troubles did not exist, as if she wasn’t locked away and forgotten by everyone; as if somewhere, somehow, she matters.

She gets up from her mattress, wincing from the stiffness of her joints, but not caring about it. There, in front of the window, she scans the night sky for a possible explanation and wonders why she’s feeling so light, joyful and happy if there’s not a single thing to be light, joyful or happy about in this tower.

Taking the small hand mirror she was provided with, she grinds her teeth through the pain of using her magic, summons the closest reflective surface available and sees the name _ Emma _embroidered with purple lace on the side of a knitted white blanket where the small creature is cocooned in, her hand shaking from the effort of maintaining the connection.

“Emma,” Regina breathes out, lips parted as she stares at the small creature, who opens her green-blue eyes for a brief second. Did she somehow feel the same heavy, magnetic, inexplicable pull?

Baby Emma’s magic calls for Regina’s, navigating from the solar chamber located in the East Wing of the castle until it reaches the prison tower on the West Wing.

The winds whisper...

the savior is born 

...and the Evil Queen lays the mirror down with a shaky hand and a headache behind her eyes, a single tear falling from her eyelashes when something bigger than she could ever explain travels through her veins and settles right there in her dark heart, calling forth her dampened and corrupted magic.

* * *

The birth of a new magical signature as powerful as Emma’s is felt through every corner of the Enchanted Forest for those who have the ability to sense it.

At the recently inhabited Dark Palace, in her solar chamber, the Wicked Witch conjures the image of the Princess in one of her mirrors, just as the Evil Queen, until four months ago a most accomplished witch, had.

(Zelena tells herself she’s been watching the White Kingdom for two months to be certain they haven’t yet suspected of her having taken the Dark Kingdom that no longer was.

She tells herself a number of things these days… She is definitely not jealous of the adoration the Charmings get from the people, she is definitely not lost because there is no half-sister to watch, she is definitely _ not _missing Rumplestiltskin.

And, most of all, she is definitely not lonely.)

The squirming babe does not hold her attention for long, though. She touches her hand to the mirror, head tilted, when she feels the presence of another signature, faint and flickering, as if somebody else were using a reflective surface there. 

Closing her eyes, Zelena visualizes the World Behind The Mirror, an empty land of mirrors since the Genie of Agrabah had escaped. She sends a pulse of her magic to find the one that’s using—

There, through that world, Zelena glimpses much too pale features and sorrowful dark eyes, and there’s no mistaking that face. Her breath catches, she breaks off the connection hastily, stumbling back a few steps.

“No… How—_ R-Reg,” _ she chokes on the name, incredulous. _ “Regina.” _

Her nostrils flare, clutching both fists to her heaving chest. Her nails bite her palms in an attempt to ground herself. “How is that even possible?” She shrieks, then hurls a burst of energy at the mirror, which shatters in a dozen jagged pieces to the floor.

She lets out a bark of laughter, suddenly angry.

At dawn, she finds Regina again, taking a peek at the Mirror World — something blocks her from accessing a reflective surface directly to where Regina is.

No matter. This is enough.

Her plans just have to be adjusted, that’s all.

(Now, it will only take approximately nine years and two months for enough Courage and Will to bloom in her heart. Nine years and two months until she pricks her finger and lets blood magic find Regina’s location.)

* * *

Inexplicable things start happening as a few springs go by, as Emma gets older.

Emma’s always been the sweetest child. Barely cried during the night as an infant, peaceful as ever, as if her nursery was a safe haven from all the evils of the world.

And as she grows older, she becomes this lively child, radiating happiness and warmth, and frequently seeking and giving affection.

Snow loves her so much.

Emma’s grey eyes seemed to stare into her soul when she was safe against her chest, eagerly suckling on her breast. And when Charming gently caressed her small cheek, she’d close her eyes in content.

And if Emma did cry, she bellowed; if she was unhappy, she would let you know, one way or the other. She did not seem to particularly like her nursemaids’ company when Snow or Charming had to meet with the royal council or attend to the Court.

But then… inexplicable things started happening as soon as Emma was old enough to mumble a few syllables. If she wanted a toy on a higher shelf and could not reach it, she’d hold her arms out and, suddenly, when the nanny wasn’t looking, it would appear next to her.

Snow gets worried when, two months after she turns two years-old, Emma’s playing with her teddy bear and stuffed lion, completely engrossed in her conversation with them, and wisps of light start to circle her, almost playfully. Snow’s heart skips a few beats. “Mommy!” Emma squeals, clapping her hands in delight when she looks up, the luminescence so beautiful to the little princess that she giggles.

This cannot be…

She stares at those lights but does not see them, cannot see their beauty nor Emma’s happiness at the odd display she had caused.

Swooping Emma to her embrace in the next second, breathing hard, Snow asks urgently—“How did you do that, Emma?”—carrying Emma back and forth inside the nursery.

Her fast movements scare the princess, who clams up and gives her mother a wobbly lip in response, as if sensing something is not right. She’s always been very attuned, sensitive to her’s and Charming’s moods and emotions.

“Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says with tears in her eyes, giving Emma a hug and several little kisses to her cheek.

“Why you cry, Mommy?” Emma sniffles, holding strands of Snow’s hair in her tiny hands. She does this whenever she needs comfort. Snow opens her mouth to answer—

She breathes in sharply, instead.

Above Emma’s head, the wisps of light transform into rain as Emma starts crying in earnest, and Snow’s knees buckle, so she carefully places the two of them on the floor, her fear taking hold.

* * *

Regina lies on her side, her gaze unfocused.

She’d woken up exhausted, and did not deign herself to get up.

This has become the norm, lately.

She lacks the energy to do the simplest things.

It’s been a little over two years now, as she’d grasped from Snow’s incessant babbling about _ Emma, _ their precious little child whom she foolishly speaks of in front of Regina.

The moment Regina gets out of here, she will use that information to her advantage, and Snow should know better… her arrogance is infuriating.

It’s been two years of perusing the same books, their pages old and tattered, a few of them ripped apart whenever Regina’s in one of her particularly nasty moods, usually after one of the one-sided conversations that Snow insists on holding. She regrets it later, of course, but there isn’t much she can do from up here to diminish her anger.

(There isn’t much to do except wait for the perfect moment. Weaknesses always show up, especially when it comes to love, she would think with a derisive chuckle.)

Two years of constantly looking at the same world outside: the same servants and commoners and frilly royals milling about the castle grounds; the same seasons with its scalding sun and tweeting birds, distant snow-covered pine trees, pouring rain and thunder, and so on; the same castle, the same walls, the same, the same, the same… And, even if the whole world stays the same, it also does not, fundamentally; while _ Regina _does, while she stays the same and the days seem to be eternal repetitions of the last one, the passing of time a blurred notion.

She usually manages to push down the longing to be out there, doing simple, mundane things.

Her scattered thoughts come to a halt so suddenly she breathes in sharply, blinking owlishly as she moves from her side to lie down on her back, gripping her chest.

“What’s happening?” she murmurs to herself, voice cracking from disuse.

Despite herself, she smiles, closing her eyes, imagining a green field as she gallops with Rocinante, a summer breeze messing with her hair, a content smile on her lips. Happy things, happy thoughts, happy memories.

_ Happy? _ she scoffs, sitting up. Why can’t she stop this… this very sudden — and unwanted — warmth from spreading, from taking roots inside her heart?

It feels muted, somehow, like it’s not really her own. _ Of course, _ she thinks, _ it isn’t my own. _

Stepping up to the window sill, Regina gasps as the happiness dissolves like stirring sugar into water — it disappears and morphs into sadness. It is sharp and sudden, and she cannot control the tears in her eyes, nor the way her heart twinges from the pain of something she doesn’t actually know.

The pads of her fingers touch the glass of the window as she fights the conflicting emotions welling up. She stretches her hand until the whole palm is covered by the cool, grounding touch.

Regina stays calm.

She doesn’t know it, but that’s what helps baby Emma stay calm, too.

* * *

The Queen and King of the White Kingdom are understandably fearful of magic, mostly the kind that manifests in people and gives them the power of choice between good and evil.

That does not mean they don’t help preserve the lives of magical creatures in their territory; they just don’t want their own child to fall into the darkness’ embrace after all they had done to secure she never would.

It is with a heavy heart that the Blue Fairy dampens Emma’s magic while she’s asleep, two days after she’d first shown outward signs.

Emma wakes up crying loudly — as the fairy had warned she’d feel some momentary discomfort — from having a piece of her put away, like an empty space was created. Her parents soothe her to sleep, and since she’s still a baby, she cannot recall the particular feeling the next day, cannot distinguish what had saddened her so.

In the West Wing, Regina jolts awake in bed, weeping. She falls to the floor in a heap of limbs, holding her head in her hands and imploring to the skies to make it stop, please oh please make it stop.

Maybe she dreamt of Daniel’s death, she considers, for it feels this way. It feels like old and new heartbreak. Like running to cradle Daniel’s unresponsive body, screaming at Mother and kissing his lips desperately to wake him with true love’s kiss. Regina knows she’s damaged; her love killed him and was never strong enough to save him. She sobs even harder.

Although Regina will not be affected anymore by any powerful bursts of emotion caused by Emma’s untrained magic for the years to come, today it hurts acutely, because Emma is hurting. Regina doesn’t know this truth and can’t possibly find a plausible reason for feeling like someone had plunged a hand inside her chest and taken her resilient heart away.

There’s no one to soothe her to sleep, and she lies awake shivering on the cold floor until the morn.

(Eventually, she will learn to get used to the odd emptiness.)

Snow doesn’t think anything of the pronounced shadows under Regina’s eyes when she visits later.

(It is known: this will not last. It is only a small comfort the fairy bestowed upon the worried parents. The product of True Love’s magic merely lies dormant in Emma’s veins and bones.

Emma is magic, and nothing can change that.)


	6. the past echoes in these walls

Over the next three years, the remaining ogres are dealt with; the Fourth Known Ogres War officially over. The kingdom thrives under Snow and Charming’s kind but firm rulership.

The Dark Palace has been abandoned by the White Kingdom’s affairs for the past four years and, as far as anyone knows, it stands there gathering dust and great curtains of cobwebs, protected by magic against trespassers. People forget what fear tastes like if it is not a harsh winter or a rainstorm, and enjoy the ordinary days as if dangers never lurked beneath the surface, as if threats of dark curses and impossible deals were all but nightmares long forgotten.

* * *

Tonight, the patter of light rain at the Royal Castle, as much as it is soothing, doesn’t lull the Princess to sleep quite yet.

She has been tucked into bed for an hour now.

“Pleeeeease, Mommy!” Emma is saying, wiggling slightly in bed. ‘M not tired, I kno—” a yawn betrays her in the next second. She clamps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Emma,” Snow chuckles at her daughter’s antics, “I’ve told you _ two _stories already.” 

Emma huffs and crosses her arms. “One?” she asks again with a big, dimpled smile.

Snow sighs, then plants a kiss on Emma’s chubby cheek. Her bright green eyes will be her undoing some day. “Do you promise to get some rest after one more story?”

“Mhmm!” Emma nods earnestly, grabbing her baby blanket.

“Alright,” Snow says, amused. “Which story now?”

“The Evil Queen!” she says immediately. “Tell me the story of you and the horsey!” It’s one of her favorites.

Snow watches her, apprehensive and just a bit sad. It tugs at her heartstrings — for she tells these stories in hopes of showing Emma who the Evil Queen once was, aware that Emma will never get to know Regina before she became evil. Snow is the only one fighting to keep Regina alive in someone else’s memories. Because… is Regina still alive, really? (She banishes the thought as quick as it comes.)

“Okay,” she finally says. She brings forth the image of those green pastures and herself as a young child. “Once upon a time, when I was still a princess, just a little older than you, my father was lonely, travelling the lands in search for a queen and I was there to accompany him on the journey. I’d just learnt how to ride a horse by myself and was so happy to do so. But one day, in one of our stops, the horse I was riding—”

“—ran away!” Emma completes for her, brushing her small hands against the soft wool.

“It ran away with me, yes. I was about to be thrown, the horse wouldn’t stop— and then I shouted,” Snow cups her hands around her mouth, and acts it out, “‘Help me! Help! Somebody help!’”

Only Emma’s eyes watch her, the rest of her hiding behind the baby blanket she hugs to herself, so immersed in the story that she forgets she’s heard it several times already. “And then, Mommy?” she asks, voice muffled into the wool.

“Who knows what might have happened, hmm?” Snow says quietly, helping Emma lie down again, pulling the covers to tuck her in. “Fortunately, this woman— she had no idea who I was, she came charging in after me with her own steed, and she saved me.” 

“But the horsey…” Emma whispers, just as quiet. “How did she do it?”

“She risked her own life, Emma.” Snow explains. “You know, your late grandma always told me to keep goodness in my heart and be kind. And the late queen proved that she was right. Re—” she stops herself before she reveals Regina’s name— “the Queen saved me.”

Names are powerful things, as the deceased Rumplestiltskin would have attested.

“The Evil Queen,” Emma corrects, looking at her with wide, curious eyes. Snow shivers, draws her sleeping robe closer to her body.

“Yes.” She brushes her hand through Emma’s soft golden curls, smiling sweetly. “Though she was not always evil. She was a kind, lovely young woman when I first met her.”

Emma nods sleepily.

“But she wanted revenge more than she wanted love. And then made bad, bad choices because of it.” Snow says. “So I believe evil isn’t born, it’s made.”

“And so is good,” her daughter mumbles, blinking owlishly.

“Yes, my darling.” Her eyes moist with tears, Snow presses a kiss to Emma’s forehead. “Sleep now, Emma. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

Young Emma cannot stand still for long periods of time. It’s boring.

This becomes known to her parents very early, who tell her that when she was one and a half, she’d started waddling around her nursery and would move around all the plush toys and wooden cubes to create stories, babbling about nonsensical things. Around her five years mark, she’d disappear from the Great Hall as soon as Snow and Charming looked the other way, preoccupied with court matters that needed to be addressed immediately. They would find her in the kitchens, standing on the tip of her toes as she attempted to grab a bowl of whatever sweets were being prepared. Adelina, the dessert chef, was never amused.

Her parents learn quickly enough that Emma needs to be exhausted, which means various activities throughout the day, or she’ll be restless, fidgety, bored; and, ultimately, won’t pay attention to what’s being said. The list goes on.

So, today, Emma sits in front of the dressing table and prepares for a day full of activities.

“Your Highness?”

Kicking her legs back and forth against the armchair, Emma looks at her handmaiden through the mirror. Leticia’s twenty years old, married to a lovely blacksmith who also lives in the castle. Her appearance is so different from Emma’s, and Emma hopes to one day be as pretty as she is. Her hair long and curly and brown, her eyes dark like chocolate. Leticia is also very good at choosing Emma’s favorite flowers to decorate her bedchamber.

“Yes, Leticia?” she finally answers.

“I was wondering how would you like your hair today, sweetling.”

Emma smiles, her front teeth missing. She loves sticking her tongue there. “A braid. No… maybe a ponytail. Hmm…” she pauses, turning her head this way and that, considering the possibilities. “Oh, I’m riding today! And there are sword lessons and my hair can’t get in the way, so a braid, please!”

Leticia chuckles. “Right away, Princess.”

Oh, but one of her greatest joys is to ride around the castle grounds with her pony. She can’t wait to have her own horsey! She’ll call it Unicorn, because she can’t have a real unicorn, as much as she’d pouted and begged for one, so her horse will be called Unicorn.

Emma sighs wistfully.

Her handmaiden has to plead with her to stand still more than once. Emma is sorry, yes, but she can’t help the way she’s fidgeting with nervous energy; she’s so excited! Her first sword lesson!

She might not be the Savior in this realm, but she imagines herself a White Knight (armor, shield and everything) and it’s just as good. Strong and brave and… and… and courageous and strong and smart like her parents. One day, there will be a painting of hers next to theirs. (She just hopes she’ll be a little bit taller when it happens.)

The huge painting in the great hall has her father holding a sword, her mother a bow with a quiver on her back, their hands joined. It’s beautiful. She wants to be just as strong when she grows up. “Do you think I could learn how to use the bow and arrow?” Emma wonders aloud, eyes sparkling.

Leticia looks up from her work as she weaves the strands of hair together. “You’d have to ask—”

“My parents, I know... Still, it would be so great!”

She’s wearing pants today, not a puffy dress. Don’t get her wrong, she enjoys wearing dresses from time to time, but they are tiring, especially because she’ll more often than not come back from running around with Pinocchio all covered in dirt. Her mother doesn’t like that very much.

Two weeks ago, on her eighth Birthday, she asked for a sword, which came as a big surprise to her parents. “Pleeeease, Mom? Daaaad? Couldn’t I start learning? I promise I’ll try to read what Madame asked yesterday.”

Emma hates her lessons. Sitting through them is horrible enough, but having to actually read things now? How does one do that?

The alphabet is still confusing, and then there are calligraphy lessons too, and it takes her hours to read a couple of sentences. She usually gets a headache from those. But that’s okay, according to Mom. She’ll get there, eventually.

This is the best day ever, though, because her parents had agreed!

* * *

Regina is sitting at the window sill, her head leaning against the cool glass, her legs hugged tight to her own chest. She’s given up on reading one of the limited number of books she has in her meagre possession.

The silence today seems too much to bear.

Some days are hard.

She’ll spend days on end without human contact, without someone talking to her. Her skin itches and feels tight.

She has no updates of the real world besides what Snow White or her little window brings.

She’ll feel a sharp unpleasant prickling sensation on her body when she attempts to use dark magic, and wonders as usual what kind of harmful power the green spell that attacked her once upon a time had been.

She’ll try her best at simple spells, but her light magic is still shaky, and leaves her gasping for breath, tiredness sticking to her bones. The barrier and the frozen time spell are definitely at odds with her.

And she’s known for quite some time that the tower is messing with her mind. Her grip on every memory she’s ever kept buried is resurfacing one by one, and it scares her.

It scares her.

Last night, Mother invaded her sleep: Her cruel and sharp words, her punishments, her dark magic choking her lungs.

Regina was scared. (This has been known for some time.)

She can admit it now.

Her face scrunches up and she exhales shakily, hands bunching up her dress on her knees. She will not cry. She is not _ weak. _

* * *

Emma sets off with her dad carrying her piggyback style, and tightens her hold when she spots the training station, squealing in delight.

David laughs and maneuvers her from his back, letting her down. She grabs his hand. “My daughter, I know you’re excited, but I was almost gasping for air!”

Emma jumps up and down, jostling his hand in her grip. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m really, really, really happy.”

“Alright. Wait a few moments here while I get our weapons,” he says and moves in the direction of the armory.

Taking a seat on the ground, Emma leans back, her palms bunching up some grass as she stares up at the blue sky. She wonders, then, what would it be like to be there, at those mountains she always sees so far away? She wishes to one day visit them. Her home is so pretty. How would it feel to be at the mountains and see this huge castle from afar?

She follows her finger as it points at the mountains, then moves to the next great thing within her sight, which are the towers. She loves counting things, ever since she learned it. One, two, three, four, five, six— _ Wait… _ Her finger stops, and she lowers it slowly. Crossing her arms, she rights herself, a frown on her features. _ Six? _ Here from the ward, she can see six towers splayed around the inner grounds. 

She’s visited five towers, she’s almost sure! That tower… She’s never visited it!

(Yes, she never has. Because it had not been meant to be found.)

“Ready?” her dad asks as he returns a few minutes later.

Emma nods, getting up, still eyeing the mysterious tower. “What part of the castle is that one?” She points in the general direction of the tallest tower.

David turns to where she’s pointing at, face carefully void of any emotion. “That’s… the West Wing, Emma.”

The West Wing never held much interest to her, because there isn’t a lot to do over there. Perhaps a secret passage or two she’s found, but other than that… The guest’s library is not fun. She doesn’t even know how to read full books, yet.

“Oh. So what’s there?”

Dad clears his throat, now somewhat uncomfortable. It makes Emma even more curious. “The… the unused rooms and some old stuff. Here,” he says, and she finally focuses her gaze on the two wooden sticks he has with him as he hands her one.

“Where’s my sword?” she asks.

“This is your sword,” David replies, an amused smile on his lips.

“But why?” Emma whines, her rambunctious nature not enjoying the idea. This wooden stick is no fun. She wants the real thing, like the ones she sees the knights using!

“Emma, you’re too young to use a real sword yet. You’ll get there, I promise. Patience, my love,” he chuckles. “In the meantime, I’ll teach you the basics with the wooden waster and then you’ll practice with Pinocchio.”

“But Dad— Hey!” He catches her off guard, throwing her waster to the floor with one bat of his. “Why did you do that?”

“Pay attention, Emma. You won’t learn anything if you keep complaining. In a few years you’ll be able to train with a real sword and you’ll already be the best swordsman of all.”

Emma grins. “Swordswoman!” She grabs her waster from the grass and points it at her dad. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

They train until it’s almost time for supper, and Emma’s pout does not persuade her father to a few more minutes of sparring. Then, she’s ushered to take a bath and change into a dress, and Emma tells her handmaiden all about her first training session.

“I’m famished!” exclaims Emma when she enters the dining room an hour later, where both her parents are waiting for her.

“Emma!” Snow admonishes. “That’s not—”

“The way a princess should behave,” Emma repeats the words as her mother says them, rolling her eyes.

Dad winks at her while Mom sighs, and Emma cannot hide her giggle as she takes a seat.

* * *

How will she find that tower? She’s not familiar with the West Wing. However, having discovered and mastered the many secret passageways throughout the castle, Emma was always alert and always on the move, hiding from guards of whom she knew their positionings for when she wanted to explore the castle no questions asked.

Thus, as soon as she is done eating, and after asking permission to be excused, she leaves the dining hall in search of the mysterious tower. She has around three hours to do so freely before her mother will want her to practice her reading or writing or painting or… sigh, it is certainly tiring.

But the only information she has to go on is that the tower is somewhere inside the keep, and probably on the side she’s never visited, if Dad understood her question.

Knowing the ways through the secret passages does help. A lot.

It’s better if she goes to the entrance hall through the door on her right in the dining room, and that’s what she does. Emma has already realized that acting as if nothing is amiss is the best way to go unnoticed by any servants besides the guards. She takes in the huge archway that leads to the first floor of the west side of the castle, and her belly flutters in excitement at the prospect of another adventure.

If there are hidden staircases on the East Wing, then certainly she’ll be able to find them on the West Wing, too.

She stops herself just in time from running once she’s at the corridor, instead taking in the tapestries adorning the stone walls, the huge windows and the sunlight pouring inside with a smile. She’s always felt so small inside the castle, especially when she looks up and realizes only a giant would be able to touch the high ceiling.

Guards are trained to be alert at all times, so Emma makes her footsteps as light as possible to avoid attracting attention to herself. But there are no guards on the West Hall when she finally enters the long corridor.

Although she’s pretty sure her parents had mentioned some guests staying in the West Wing once or twice, all she can spot are enormous doors following the hallway the entire way down, which probably lead to medium-sized bedchambers not being used at the moment. Emma never checks those out; they all look the same.

Her breathing is already fast from walking the long distance, and her feet are sore. How long has it been since she left the entrance hall?

Poking her head around the corner, she frowns when she only finds more doors (how utterly boring!) and one archway to the left side that leads to the library. She is not surprised that the library has two guards stationed in front of it.

Emma refrains from expressing her frustration aloud as she quickly returns to lean her back against the wall from the previous hallway. She does roll her eyes though. She’ll have to plan this better and return tomorrow. She cannot enter the library and simply disappear, it would be too suspicious. And the fun part of an adventure was not being discovered.

Besides, she thinks, looking out the closest window, _ If I don’t get back soon, Mom will realize I’m gone and get worried. _


	7. she

It’s three days later when Emma finally decides to return to the West Wing. She’d also been busy, playing the violin and training with her dad and practicing her reading. Mom didn’t let her out of her sight. It was quite annoying. The only reprieve came at nighttime, when she’d spend her last hours before bedtime yawning and scribbling on a piece of parchment with the help of candlelight. 

But finally, she has some free time, no lessons at all, Mom busy with Council business, and she can continue her exploring.

She had taken a parchment and had drawn possible pathways to the tower. It was easy to disconsider getting straight to the upper floors from the get-go without using any secret stairs.

Emma can’t even remember what’s on the other floors, really… The castle is so huge!

Her hunch was quite simple: If the main tower from the East Wing had been accessible from the second floor, then surely the same ought to be true for the West Wing.

So after that, she decided she’d have to find the room that was connected to the library — so she didn’t have to go through the front and, therefore, not be noticed by any of the guards. From there, the journey would be easier, hopefully.

Armed with her hooded oil lamp, Emma leaves her bedchambers and uses the hidden door built in to get them from their solar chambers to the entrance hall quickly — ‘ _ One is never too careful, Emma,’  _ her mother would say.

The only thing she has to do is to go down the spiral stairs, and isn’t she glad she isn’t afraid of the dark like that boring princess, Alexandra, from the neighboring kingdom! Her oil lamp provides the only source of light in this cramped passage full of spiderwebs and who knows what insects.

She’s dressed in her favourite exploratory outfit—loose cotton shirt tucked into leather riding pants, and her scuffed boots.

One hand holds her light; the other gives her a sense of balance against the stone as she goes down and down and down… 

Her breathing leaves her in short puffs of air — never-ending stairs!

Humming an unknown melody, she smiles, giddy for her newest adventure. It has been some time since she’d last found something worthwhile in the castle. She hopes her feeling about this is right, and that it  _ will be  _ in fact worth it.

(Emma won’t be disappointed.)

She closes the ‘door’ — which was actually a huge painting that hid it — and sighs happily. Through one of the hallways she goes, still humming a tune. Thankfully, the entrance hall is empty and essentially no one is around here at this time of the day. Her parents have other matters to attend to concerning shipments.

The west hall is again empty. She starts going inside the rooms to her right at random; they all have white cloths covering the furniture to keep away the dust. And none of these are big enough, which meant they aren’t important enough to have a secret passage to the library.

To her left, however, there are three rooms that occupy more space than the previous ones did. The one closest to the archway is absolutely empty. 

It’s fortunate that the second room contains what she’s been searching for.

Her steps are light and careful once she’s in the library, because she can’t afford to be noticed now. She barely spares a glance to the tall mahogany shelves with books she can’t yet read properly, or the cozy armchairs placed by the large windows. What a lovely day outside, though.

Finally, between one shelf and another, in a narrow corner, is a door. She climbs the stairs, tongue poking out in concentration, her lamp illuminating the path.

There are more stairs and corridors and dark and dirty passages than we could ever begin to count — nor could Emma, for that matter — until she takes a left turn and stumbles upon an empty, abandoned corridor. The air here is stale, floating particles in sunlight coming from the shut windows.

The first thing to catch her attention are the dusty tapestries discolored from lack of proper care along the walls, and she takes great delight in brushing her hand through the one closest to her, leaving a contrasting line across the thick grime.

Emma holds herself back from entering any of the few rooms to her left.

Instead, she grips the door knob and pulls, smiling when there’s no resistance.

She stares at the niche in the wall, willing her feet to move forward. Stone steps leading up in a long curving spiral are all she can see, and she bites her lip as she wonders just where they would take her. What is up there? She hesitates for another breath before placing one foot on the step.

“You can do it, Emma,” she whispers to herself. “You can do it.”

* * *

Today is another day where Regina is dozing off sitting on the window sill, after composing herself from a vicious nightmare. But then, she hears steps, and becomes alert once more. Snow is back already? The woman’s just visited, she ponders, sparing a glance to the tally marks by her bed.

She pretends to watch the sun mingled with the ocean in the distance.

One two three four five steps at once, quick and quite noisy, a creaking sound accompanying the discordant melody.

_ What is Snow doing?  _ she asks herself. _ Has she lost her mind before I do? _

After the fifth step everything abruptly stopped — is Regina imagining things, she wonders?

No, she is not.

Emma had climbed the first stairs with hastiness, not thinking much, like the time she’d found a pair of sewing scissors in her parents’ bedchambers and chopped quite a few strands of hair in one swift move — it’d been a wonder she hadn’t cut herself in the process.

Breathing deeply through her nose to calm her palpitating heart, she places her oil lamp next to her on the rock floor. From where she is standing, she can see the room in the tower is well-illuminated like all the towers she’d visited, and she can also see the remaining five steps that will show her what is stored there.

Would she find any treasure? Did castle pirates exist? Could she be one? It would be sooooo cool!

Shaking her head, Emma leaves the lamp there and climbs the last steps with purpose, entering the tower with no worry at all, her boots scuffing on cobblestone.

“I wonder why such hurry,  _ Snow White,”  _ Regina spits the name. “Missed me already, dear?”

That beautiful, rich voice asks Emma— no, asks  _ her mother,  _ not turning from her perch on the window.

Emma stands still, her body rigid as she processes several things at once. That person knows  _ her mother.  _ That person knows her mother and she is  _ locked in a cell. _

Emma gasps loudly, and immediately covers her mouth, finally a spark of fear igniting itself on her ribcage. She wouldn’t be able to run away even if she’d wanted to.

Regina slowly lowers her legs, sure she’d heard wrong, surely Snow wouldn’t… it makes no sense at all. Because why would Snow be surprised—

She turns around, still not getting up.

That is not Snow White.

That is a young child.

Certainly she’s losing her mind, Regina thinks, rising from her perch to take a better look. What is a small girl doing up here?

“Step closer, dear, don’t be shy,” she prompts, studying the girl with narrowed eyes. Her clothes may have seemed plebeian to anyone else, but Regina had been around royalty enough to know her shirt is made from the best expensive cotton available, same with her riding pants. If that wasn’t telling, the girl’s posture alone gives her away.

The child finally steps closer, and her mouth falls open.

Golden locks and bright green eyes—

One glance at her features and recognition flares through her mind; one glance and she knows who the child is.

That’s Emma, she knows. She knows, but she can’t fathom how the girl had managed to find the tower. No one knows where she is, according to Snow. No one knows... Regina knows who that is,  _ she knows, she knows. _

Is her mind playing tricks on her lonely soul?

Or has it really been that long since she’d last seen the princess, who’d been a newborn then? Just how old is she now?  _ How much time… how much time has passed?  _ Regina considers then with a deep breath to calm her racing heart. 

“Who… who are you?” asks Emma when nothing else is forthcoming, a hint of a lisp on her speech. She frowns, getting closer to the iron bars on the side without a lock. The whole area is shimmering in yellow waves, like a barrier has been placed upon it. Regina stays silent. “What’s this?” Emma continues, her previous question forgotten for the time being. “Is it magic? Are you—”

_ “That... _ is of no consequence, little princess,” answers Regina, eyeing the barrier with disdain, staying far from it. “What would your parents think, were they to find you here?”

For someone who’s been captured for so long, she holds onto any form of amusement with greed.

Emma can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the barrier, which covers the whole cell, really. She is entranced by the little sparks it produces when the mysterious woman gets even remotely close. She’s never seen lots of magic up close, since her mom is deeply afraid of it because of the Evil Queen and will always point out that  _ magic is dangerous and evil. _

She pokes at it without hesitation, the woman’s sound of protest not deterring her in the slightest. She feels a surge of something indescribable when she touches it with her palm more firmly, warmth coursing through her; and yes, it is definitely a barrier. She cannot describe what she feels, though. But it is powerful.

Regina considers Emma for a moment with a subtle frown. “Hmm.” Emma had not even registered her inquiry, it seems, more preoccupied with the infernal barrier. Regina huffs. “Ought you be here, your highness?” 

When Emma registers it, she raises her head to stare right into Regina’s eyes, startling in the process, eyes wide. Immediately, she takes a step back. “How… How do you know I’m a princess?”

The woman raises an eyebrow, but does not comment. It makes Emma nervous. She is not answering anything directly, and Emma does not like that at all.

What had Mom and Dad said once?

_ Do not speak with strangers. _

Regina provides, “I would recognize your mother’s features anywhere, dear. Your chin, especially. Though the color of your hair is more similar to your father’s, if I am not mistaken.”

Her thoughts all circle back to a few simple questions: Why is she indulging this child? What would be the purpose? What kind of leverage can she guarantee from this?

She is uncertain on whether she has an answer to them. Perhaps… loneliness is making her softer. She purses her lips at that.

Emma nods, acknowledging the comment with a serious expression on her face. “That’s true. People say I look like my mom… Oh! I’m Emma.” She sticks her tongue in the space from her missing teeth. “Who are you?”

Regina gazes thoughtfully at the princess... What could she say without giving away too much? “I’m a witch,” she decides, smirking.

“Oh,” Emma breathes, eyes lighting up. A _witch! _Her eyebrows furrow. Last year’s toast at the Annual Celebration of The Evil Queen’s Defeat called the Queen an evil witch. “I have never met a witch before! Are you evil, too? Like the Evil Queen?”

Regina’s heart nearly stops when that moniker falls from the child’s lips, so carelessly, no fear in her voice. It has been so long since she’s last heard it.  _ The Evil Queen.  _ The way her jaw clenches is what could betray her otherwise unaffected disposition, but she soon recovers from her shock.

Regina is noncommittal about the matter, questioning the princess instead on what are her own conclusions upon it.

“Hmm, well... You don’t look evil… You’re actually really pretty!” Emma replies, tilting her head while she gives it a thought, and Regina has to hide her amused smile. “The evil witches from the stories are scary and ugly. Oh, and I have heard stories from my godmother of the good witches in other realms. I am not sure we have any… I haven’t met any, good or not.”

Regina is aware she’s treading a fine line — in theory, she could end this charade and tell the princess who she really is. However, she would have to face the consequences. (Either way, she will face the consequences later.)

“You believe the Evil Queen was scary and ugly, then?”

Emma frowns. “I couldn’t speak for myself. I’ve never seen a portrait of her.”

“Hmm.”

“But…” Emma hesitates, rocking on her heels, not looking directly at the brunette. She is so curious, though! “...why are you here? And not at the dungeons like all the other prisoners?”

The woman’s features close off, just like that. Emma’s heartbeat quickens, for she does not know that the anger in Regina’s eyes is certainly not directed at her, but at her predicament. She realizes, then, that going to the tower had been a mistake. 

_ Do not speak with strangers. _

As in the game of cat and mouse, Regina steps closer, close enough that the barrier shimmers more violently, awaiting for a simple brush of her skin to burn her, while Emma steps back, gripping her pants with shaky hands.

“You mustn’t ask questions to which you would not appreciate the answers,” Regina says, her tone clipped.

Emma nods vehemently. “I-I’m… Yes.” She swallows, her throat suddenly gone dry. She— she is suddenly in desperate need of a glass of water. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

_ “No,”  _ Regina says, “you shouldn’t have. Haven’t your parents taught you it is impolite to be so nosy,  _ Princess Emma?” _

“Well… I am not nosy, madam. I was curious, that’s all!” Emma tells her, crossing her arms with a huff.  _ Mom and Dad don’t mind my questions.  _

Wait.

Suddenly, her eyes widen. Standing on her tiptoes and looking out the woman’s window, she can see the sunset.

_ Oh no, this is bad. My parents will be so worried! _

She gasps. “I apologize, but I must be going, it is rather late. My parents will be wondering where I am.”

Without waiting for an answer, Emma turns on her feet, nearly tripping in the process, and heads for the stairs, not looking back, her mind already preoccupied with other matters. She is so late!

Not even when she thinks she hears the witch exclaim, “Wait!” does she turn around, but then a hissing sound (that sounds a lot like a hiss of pain) makes her pause for a brief second, but there is no time to waste.

She runs.

(Almost forgetting her oil lamp in the process.)


	8. memories adrift

Going back to the main part of the castle is no easy feat.

(Now Emma realizes she hadn’t even said goodbye to the witch!...

...and doesn’t know her name!)

Her boots scuffing the floor and her heavy breathing fill the silence as she takes the fastest route possible to get back.

She squints, trying to make out who is dusting that funny lion statue up ahead. “Amanda!” she calls as loud as she can, her breath coming in short puffs. The woman in question turns her head, immediately setting down her duster and curtseying.

“Your highness.”

Emma gets closer, asking, “Have you seen my parents? Is dinner being served?”

“I believe I heard Granny barking orders when I was getting supplies from the cabinet,” she answers with a smile.

Emma groans. She is late.

“Thank you, Amanda!” she answers, already sprinting in the opposite direction.

This is so tiring!

She enters the dining hall to find her parents chatting amongst themselves, a servant pouring wine on their crystal goblets.

Emma’s panting as she tries to catch her breath alerts them to her presence.

“Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence!” Dad teases, while Mom says, at the same time, “Emma! Where have you been?”

“I was…” She takes the seat opposite from them, her feet killing her. “There’s a…” she inhales and exhales, laying her head on top of her arms at the table, “...just… wait…” she mumbles.

Charming chuckles, reaching out a hand to touch her head. “Deep breaths, Emma.” 

Emma nods to the table.

They wait, motioning for the servant not to serve the food yet. Emma is acting oddly, more so than usual.

Emma finally straightens herself, heaves a sigh, and begins once more, “There in the west wing.” She says it quickly, before she loses her breath again. “Why hadn’t I seen it before?”

“Emma, honey. Your father and I cannot understand a word of what you’re saying.”

There are more important questions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Leave us.” Charming says to the servant.

After he does, Snow asks, confused, “Tell you…? What are you talking about, Emma?” and shares a look with her husband.

“There’s a witch here!”

_ “Here?” _Charming pretends to look around, a playful smile on his lips. “I’m not sure—”

“Not _ here, _ here,” interrupts Emma, shaking her head. “I meant inside the castle, Dad!”

“Sweetie, witches don’t—”

“I found this tower, and there were no treasure chests, old dresses, or… or… I don’t know, old things. I found a witch!”

A silence falls, a pause — that pause will define the future; might even speed along prophecies if the Charmings aren’t careful.

(It is not meant to be, for Emma still has a lot to learn.)

Charming interferes, sparing his wife a look that says, ‘Follow my lead’. They need not words to communicate.

“My princess, are you sure it was not a dream? Even if it were real” —he raises his hand to stop any protests from Emma— “even then, you know better than to venture around the castle without letting us know. I thought we told you the west wing was mostly unused at this time of the year, so what business had you there?”

They don’t understand! There’s a WITCH living in the tower!

“But Dad—”

“No, Emma,” Snow says firmly. “You will not go looking for a witch anymore, and that’s final. Do you understand?”

Emma lowers her eyes with a pout and nods.

“Then we shall eat.”

* * *

Later that day, as if sensing she’s feeling down, Mom and Dad tuck her in (even if she says she’s too old for it), kiss her forehead and wish her a good night.

Emma buries herself under the covers, sighing.

“Was I really imagining things?” Emma wonders aloud, the corner of her lips tilted down.

How could that be, though?

A scary thought makes her hug her baby blanket to her chest: What if the tower was cursed? What if _ the castle _ was cursed?

“Don’t be silly, Emma,” she whispers to herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

Besides, she’s promised she won’t go looking for witches or old, abandoned towers anymore.

She should check tomorrow, just to be sure… but her parents said she’s prohibited from doing so!

If it’s all a trick of her imagination, she can at least say she knows what a witch looks like, and she’s not ugly at all.

* * *

They leave Emma’s quarters with dread plainly written in their features.

Snow walks down the hallway with Charming in tow. “She should not have found that tower,” she hisses under her breath, worried.

(...worried for Emma, or worried about her own secret? Frankly, it’s a miracle it has lasted this long.)

Charming sighs. “I know, honey. We’ll think of something. We always do.”

“It’s impossible— how was she even able to see it, Charming!” she exclaims, entering their bedchamber, trying and failing to understand how such thing had happened.

And they knew it _ had _ happened. It wasn’t a work of Emma’s imagination, no matter how powerful it could be.

Charming closes the door behind them and stares at her with a frown. “That first day of training,” he crosses his arms, remembering, “she did ask about the west wing. I thought nothing of it, but clearly she was curious enough to go exploring on her own.”

“Of course she did, it’s Emma we’re talking about.” Snow rolls her eyes with a fond smile.

He approaches her and embraces her in his arms. “I believe she’s very much like someone I know,” Charming replies teasingly.

Snow chuckles. “Yes, that is true.”

She rests her head against his chest, sighing. This is becoming more tiring every day, and she finds herself on the brink of regretting the mercy she’d shown.

“She can’t go there again, Snow. That woman is dangerous.”

“Blue said the door wouldn’t appear for anyone except you and me. That everyone would forget the tower even existed, that no one would not want to go looking for it because they simply would not know it existed. Besides, it should have been cloaked with a spell.”

“Emma wasn’t yet born when that happened. Perhaps that’s the problem.”

Snow brushes her lips against his neck, nodding. “You’re right.”

He kisses her forehead.

“So what are we going to do?” he asks eventually.

Snow disentangles herself from his embrace, eyebrows furrowed in thought. What to do indeed… They cannot risk having Emma encounter Regina again — they were lucky enough she didn’t realize to whom she was speaking this time.

“I believe you shall pay the Evil Queen a visit.”

“Yes, certainly… But we must ask for Blue’s help on the matter first, Charming. You know Emma as well as I do. She won’t believe our lie for long...” Snow trails off.

She places a hand on her forehead, guilt overflowing her heart. “David… we’re awful parents,” she whispers, eyes flickering over his and finding the same emotion reflected there.

“Snow…” It hurt him to see her like this — she carried so much on her shoulders, and he knew nothing he said would bring her peace, but, “...we’ve made choices, choices that will secure Emma’s chance of a better future. A chance at a life without fear or running. She’ll understand, I’m sure of it.”

She gives him a sad smile. “Are you, Charming? Can you really be sure?”

He opens his mouth to say something along the lines of, ‘_ Yes, of course, my love! Why wouldn’t I? We’re doing what’s best for Emma’, _but Snow’s look makes him pause.

Looking away, he says, now unsure, “I cannot.”

* * *

“Wait!” Regina had exclaimed, raising her hand as if it would stop the girl from leaving.

The pain was sudden and unforeseen when she felt it, hissing in shock.

By mistake, in her haste, she’d touched the barrier.

Now, she sits at her cot and stares at her shaking, blistered hand passively, salt water prickling in her eyes.

Growling, she gets up, using her unharmed hand to forcefully brush away tears before they fall, smoldering with resentment and anger and hatred — of herself, of Snow, of Charming, of people — she cries, “of _ everyone!” _ She kicks the stool with her shoe, glad for the sharp sound against the permanent _ silence _ up in this prison. _ “I hate you all!” _

_ Pathetic, _ Regina hears in her head. _ Pathetic, Regina. _

Mother had been _ right— _

_“I’m _pathetic!” she shouts with a snarl, throwing a book at the iron bars with a loud sob.

It’s sort of poetic, nothing else seems to be harmed by the barrier and the spell except herself. She’s the malicious being to this light magic. She’s the one who gets her skin splotched with angry red burns when she merely grazes a finger against the barrier, and crushing, debilitating pain in her limbs when she uses just a little bit of her magic inside this tower.

The Blue Fairy is one spiteful bitch, and she’s never hated fairies as much as she does now.

She’d been cursing self-righteous idiotic people who had completely ruined her life, starting with _ Snow White, _when, with a gasp, she staggers sideways — she’d unconsciously attempted to close her hands into fists, and forgot about her burnt palm in the process.

Regina whimpers pathetically and finally the tears of frustration, injustice and pain soak her soul from head to toe, sorrow etched on her face.

“I-I h-h-hate—” she hiccups, voice wet and cracked, and tries again, “I hate...” 

She leaves the thought unfinished, wary of her own conclusion, recalling an arrow imbued with dark magic _ (now it will lead me to gaze upon the person I hate most), _ a broken mirror, her own reflection staring back at her.

After a while, her breathing settles; powerful emotions don’t get a grip on her long enough anymore. Regina entertains the thought of grabbing her hand mirror and finding Emma through it, to see what happened, but ultimately decides she’s not fit for more pain and tiredness. Instead, she lies down on the lumpy mattress, useless hand hugged to her chest, studying the same patterns of cracks in the ceiling.

Even if others do, Regina does not understand how Emma found her if no one was supposed to… That’s the mystery, isn’t it?

“How many years have passed since my imprisonment?” she asks herself, voice low and rough. She’d never ask Snow White, so this is all she can do — inquire to the wind. The princess is what…? Seven, eight years old now?

Regina sniffles, emptiness settling in her heart.

_ (Do you see, Maleficent? No Dark Curse necessary to carve a hole in my heart, for it is empty, barely a twinge of happiness piercing the darkness. That _ void I’d never be able to fill _ has been growing and festering ever since Snow White fell from that horse and I married—) _

She presses the tips of her fingers hard against her closed eyelids, banishing those thoughts back to the recesses of her mind, lest she inadvertently lose the end of her tether _ now. _Seven, eight years are nothing, she tells herself over and over again before succumbing to the terrors of her sleep.

Regina still hasn’t given up on her revenge.

* * *

Early the next morning brings a restless Snow White to the tower, asking and asking and shouting _ why was she here what did you do to her what did you say _ at the villain — it’s easier to pretend Regina is not Regina and does not have a _ name _ because then Snow’s loud, uncontrolled rage seems justified; this concerns her _ daughter. _

There’s barely any movement inside the cell, but she knows Regina is listening. Regina is sitting on her wooden stool, legs crossed daintily, hands relaxed atop her knee.

However, as much as she tries, she cannot get her to admit outright that she met Emma. All she gets to her questions is Regina’s teeth appearing from between her pale, chapped lips in a mocking smile, faux-innocence dripping from her every move.

How would it feel, to see the fear in Regina’s eyes again, not unlike eight years ago? Blood staining her dress as she gasps for air—

Snow crosses her arms against her stomach, hiding the way she’s come too close to…

“I do not know what you speak of, Snow White. Leave me be, and deal with your unruly child on your own. She is your problem, not mine.”

“Don’t expect me so soon,” Snow smiles bitterly, hands shaking. “There are matters I must attend to.” With a last long look at the woman, Snow gets to the stairs and vows to stay away for a while.

* * *

Bright and early, down several staircases and corridors, in the east wing, Princess Emma is awake too.

Leticia is asking her highness how her day went, combing Emma’s long hair.

“Oh! Yesterday was wonderful. I went to the library, and then, later, I found… I met…” the princess trails off, and Leticia watches as a frown overcomes her previous excitement. “I went to the library, and then…”

“Then?” Leticia prompts.

Emma blinks. For the life of her, she cannot remember. She thinks and thinks—

“I should go and see the— the…” It was right there! She had to visit— “Why can’t I remember!”

Her handmaiden doesn’t comment on the odd behavior, Emma _ can _be quite a strange child sometimes. “It’s alright, sleepyhead. Etiquette lesson today?”

Emma’s confusion is stored away with a groan. Etiquette lessons mean a puffy dress and spoons and napkins and proper manners.

She just can’t recall what she’d been doing yesterday after the library...


	9. bloody liars

The night before, when our fallen Queen and our unruly Princess met, unbeknownst to them, their souls touched for the second time as their eyes found each other. It would still be a few years before Emma’s magic manifested itself again; for this reason, their connection remained (mostly) dormant.

* * *

The White Kingdom receives a most unwelcome visitor fourteen months later.

It all started with a witch, a knight, a map, a needle and some blood; very simple, stuff-you-see-every-day.

The witch had barked for one of the knights to bring forth a map of the Enchanted Forest.

The needle pricked her finger; a drop of blood fell on the parchment; a wave of her hand told the blood to slither through the paper, past the lake surrounding the Palace, the Dark Forest, the nearest village, the Troll Bridge and even King Midas’ castle.

Zelena wouldn’t say she’d been surprised when the trail led her to the White Kingdom.

This truly confirmed that Regina, the Evil Queen, had been alive _ all this time _ and everyone was none the wiser.

In the carriage, she’s preparing herself for every possible outcome, really, and takes some time to speculate about Regina’s whereabouts. Why is she inside the castle? If the Queen’s Defeat Day did not come to fruition, why does everyone act like it had, with the Annual Celebration? Why—

_ How _did Regina survive her execution?

What have they _ done? _

She could say she is perfectly cordial on her visit, but she’d be_ lying. _

(She’s green with envy, mind you, but she’d like her nose to remain a normal size.)

Firstly, she does try to narrow down where Regina is, but something blocks her from pinpointing her exact location. 

Then, Zelena shrugs her shoulders and forces the main doors of the throne room open with a burst of magic, like chopping wood in the winter, swift and sure.

She almost cackles when she finds the Queen and King waiting for her there — subtlety is not her forte, really; her way up to the castle keep probably caught everyone’s attention quickly.

“Guards!” King Charming shouts, just as Queen Snow says to her, “How _ dare _you come here like this.”

And Zelena just stares and them and says, “Hello, your majesties,” with a positively not innocent smile.

Several guards point their weapons at her, and Zelena waves a dismissive hand. How rude of them. “Please, allow me to introduce myself… Call me Zelena.” She sneers. “Or the Wicked Witch, I suppose, if you’d prefer.”

“What do you want,” the King demands, hands tightening into fists.

Right. There are important matters to discuss. “Where’s the Evil Queen,” she drawls, simple and to the point, hands on her hips. Snow White’s already pale face gets ashen, as if she’s seen a ghost, and Zelena opens her mouth again when nobody says anything. “I cannot believe you had mer—”

“Don’t— don’t be absurd!” Snow says with a nervous laugh, “I’m afraid she was defeated several years ago.”

“I am not daft.” Zelena purses her lips. “And that does not answer—”

Charming dismisses the guards hastily, despite their protests, and if that was supposed to be a show of power, it was quite the stupid plan, in Zelena’s opinion. They don’t have magic, as far as she knows.

“Well?” Zelena prompts, eyebrow raised.

“She was defeated several years ago,” the Queen repeats slowly, and the witch glares.

“I know that. I saw the arrows piercing her chest, quite a gory scene, really.”

The royals stay conveniently silent.

“I know she’s in here,” Zelena continues. “I felt it. I’ll spare you the details. But… how was it possible, I wonder? How was it possible that I witnessed her death, and then, a few years later, surprise! There she was—”

“She’s locked away,” blurts Snow.

Her voice resonates in their ears. _ She’s locked away. _ Charming turns to her, baffled at the admission. They’ve kept this a secret for so long. They’ve protected themselves for so long, and now... It’s been _ too _long, for Snow, and she’s equally surprised, questioning why she didn’t lie again instead. She just wanted to make the witch shut up. Zelena blinks, but her brain is slow to process that—

_ She’s locked away. _

“Snow…” Charming whispers, but can’t think of anything to say. Wary, he grips the hilt of the sword attached to his hip.

“Wh-What do you,” Zelena splutters, staring at them, “what do you mean—?”

“And that’s how she’ll remain,” Snow decrees quickly, interrupting her.

Charming shakes himself from his stupor and points his sword at Zelena, who moves out of the way just in time. “Rude,” she says, sneering. “Incredibly rude. Now, show me where Regina is. I demand it.”

Zelena demands it and perhaps… (she absolutely does) ...throws in some threats for good measure.

As it goes, the Evil Queen’s name is uttered, and she gets told off. Quite ridiculous.

So spectacularly, in fact, that she concedes the victory to the monarchs this time, leaving in a puff of smoke to avoid getting nicked by the sharp sword aimed at her neck. She knows when to retreat (or... she was overwhelmed by the news and knew not how to react).

(But she’ll be back.)

* * *

A few springs and summers and autumns and winters pass before Emma sees Regina again.

Emma applies herself more than ever to her lessons — especially her sword lessons.

She learns to read longer sentences and, understandably, it’s as if a gateway has opened just for her when she’s able to read tales about knights and ogres and princesses and other kingdoms beyond the borders of theirs.

She longs to visit those places someday.

Bright as she is, by the time she’s almost ten, she has long since memorized the important details on the history of the White Kingdom, including the details concerning her own role in it before she’d been born.

_ The Prophecy That Never Was _need not have this title on the heavy tome entitled ‘A History of the White Kingdom’ for Emma to know she’d have fulfilled her role as the Savior, had the Dark Curse been cast and taken them to another realm, had the Evil Queen succeeded.

“Which story would you like, my heart?” her mom asks one night, and Emma, preoccupied with prophecies and destinies and the history lesson she had earlier that day, frowns.

“The Evil Reign.”

Snow grips the covers at that, averting her eyes for a moment. “Oh,” is all she says with a grimace.

“Today’s lesson,” Emma elaborates, getting herself comfortable under the covers.

“Hmm, alright. What is it my curious little princess wishes to know?” Snow replies, hiding her nervousness behind a smile.

“The Queen’s Defeat, please! Please tell me about it!” Emma pouts, hands together in supplication. “The book I was reading only says you and Father fought valiantly and defeated the Evil Queen once and for all. But how was she captured?”

Mom gets that look on her face, the look of apprehension and something she cannot quite place, but it feels as if it’s always been like this: Mom does not wish to speak of the Evil Queen if it is not strictly necessary. She much prefers to tell the stories of the Queen before she became evil, Emma knows.

Snow sighs, trying to divert Emma’s thoughts from this subject. “What’s really bothering you, Emma?”

_ I want to know how my own story changed, _is what Emma doesn’t say.

Fidgeting with her hands, she says, “Nothing, I’m just curious. Mr. Abbott hasn’t reached the beginning of your reign and he never says anything about that period in a positive light. He’s never _ detailed _ the Dark Ages, either. I’m just curious.” 

“The day we celebrate the Queen’s Defeat is not of her demise, despite what people may believe.”

Emma listens carefully, drawing up her knees to her chest, as Snow tells her of the day of the Singing Wish.

(Mother and Father have told her she has a powerful magic inside her heart, a song to which she knows not the lyrics. The melody is enough — able to soothe her when nothing else can. It’s her favorite piece, which she learnt to play by ear by the time she was seven.

They’ve told her of this more times than she can remember, but as she’s grown older she’s started to wonder... how is it that _ she’s _the only one with a song?

_ You’re special, _Dad once said, but how can she be special if she’ll never be the savior?)

“Something… something happened that night,” Snow starts, her words carefully chosen. “The box she had meant for us, to take away our song, took hers instead. And blocked her magic.”

Emma raises her eyebrows. “How?”

“I do not know, but the gods were on our side. Our song overpowered her completely after that.”

“Can you sing it to me?”

Snow shakes her head, contrite. “I know not the melody anymore. The song in my and your father’s heart is now yours, Emma, as we’ve told you.”

Emma huffs. “But… why? Why would I need—”

“What matters is that the wish saved us,” Snow interrupts, grasps her daughter’s small hand in both of hers, eyes moist. “It saved your future,” she whispers with trembling lips.

Emma, her sensitive girl, stares at her with a serious expression, suddenly wise beyond her years, eyes filling with tears. Then, she throws the covers aside and embraces her mother tightly against her chest.

It might as well have been one of the last times Emma’s affection was freely given, before dark patches of anger and lies tainted their interactions.

“It was the last time we used magic,” Snow continues, her heart in her throat for the hidden truth —_ the_ _lie, the lie_ — she’s just told. _(It’s for the best, it’s for the best,_ Snow chants in her head; perhaps this way she’ll end up believing it.) “Magic is dangerous, Emma. Never forget what the Dark Curse could have done to our family.”

“I would have saved you,” Emma nods vehemently, hugging her tightly. _ I would have fulfilled my destiny. _

“Yes,” Snow closes her eyes, kissing her head. “My Savior.”

_ This is my chance. _“How did you know, Mother?” she asks. “That I was the one?”

Her mother hesitates, and Emma begins to think she’ll never get her answer, but then… “There was once a man who could see the future, and we procured him. He was known for his future-seeing powers.”

“Rumplestiltskin?”

“How did you—?”

“He was a Dark One, wasn’t he? I learnt about his kingdom, of all the spooky mysteries the Dark Castle holds.” She learnt about it and had the impetuous thought of going to the castle herself, one day, and unravelling all its traps and secrets.

Snow plays with Emma’s curls. “Yes, my bright star. And he proclaimed the key was you; but the rest of the prophecy you already know.”

That day, Emma vows to look forward and put aside what never was, letting it be taken away by the tides of destiny, even if she does so unconsciously.

(Once she accepts who she can be, not who she _ could have been, _ powerful things are sure to happen.)

* * *

Snow worries constantly, these days. Charming worries quite equally, for their people’s safety and, most importantly, Emma’s safety. Gathered at the council room, they plan for the next course of action concerning the green witch. Their informants told them that the woman is planning for battle.

_ Give me Regina, and nobody has to get hurt, _echoes in Snow’s head.

Charming’s soothing voice brings her to the present. “We shall have to increase the walls’ sizes, here,” he points at the castle’s drawing, following in a circle the outer curtain with his finger, “and around here.”

“Certainly,” the clerk mumbles, and David watches for a moment as the quill pen scratches against the parchment with precision. What else? What else can they do to ensure everyone is safe and sound?

“See to it that the message gets to the stonemason urgently,” he adds.

“Yes, of course.”

“If I may,” starts the steward. When Snow nods in his direction, he continues, “We’ve accumulated quite the fortune after the Queen’s defeat, and have yet to deplenish those resources. It should not be a worry. The treasury won’t be affected.”

A small blessing from the Queen’s capture, Snow muses. “What are the plans for the army? The knights?” she asks next. “William?”

“The palace grounds will once again be heavily guarded, just as it was at the time of the Evil Reign, your majesty,” the marshal replies, scratching his long gray beard. “Shall we guard the whole perimeter again?”

Snow mulls the question in her head, wondering if it is necessary— “There’s no need, for now. Take defense, keep watch. Should you see any trespassers, do not engage in battle unless attacked.”

“But—”

“We do not want unnecessary losses, William,” Charming interrupts. “There were more than enough before.”

Snow touches her husband’s hand, smiling. “I believe that is all for now.”

* * *

The walls are erected, their army garrisoned in several parts of the castle. The defensive towers are again occupied, sans the Evil Queen’s, of course.

A protection spell is commissioned from the fairies, who are more than happy to provide their assistance, if the outcome is to guarantee no harm comes to the Princess.

Emma is to remain inside the Royal Castle.


	10. a dream is a wish your heart makes

For Emma’s tenth birthday, a ball is held to present her to her subjects.

In silent acquiescence, Emma stands in front of a full-length mirror, her dressing maid assembling a pale blue dress with a flowing skirt and crinoline underneath. It’s so heavy! Although the jewels attached to the bodice glint prettily when she’s close to the light.

Snow loves it when she enters the fitting room and sees it. She takes in her daughter overflowing with buzzing energy, her grin is nearly blinding in its happiness.

“Oh, Emma… You look absolutely enchanting.”

“Thank you.” Emma replies, staring at her own reflection.

Mom then gifts her the diamond tiara that belonged to Grandma Eva.

_ Always hold goodness in your heart and rule justly. _

Emma hopes, while placing the symbol of heavy ideals on top of her head, that she lives up to be a kind and fierce ruler, someday.

* * *

_ Remember what you’ve lost, Emma… What have you lost? _

A whisper calls her name, asks questions she knows not the answer to.

Something wills her forward — there’s an orb of light at the end of the scary corridor, but her feet are glued to the black shiny floor. She’s surrounded by the stifling dark, and the only source of light is what makes her sure this is a corridor after all.

Emma shouts, _ “Hello?” _ and the result is a continuous string of hellos, echoing and echoing.

No one answers.

Emma kneels, her palms against the shiny black surface.

_ ...catch the light, Emma… _

She opens her eyes with a gasp, drenched in sweat, not sure of what’s woken her up. Emma feels shaky, like she’d had a terrible, terrible nightmare. Glancing at her balcony, she sees it’s almost time to start her day, anyhow.

She’s positive she’d been dreaming about something strange and dark; the memory is _ there, _right at the edge of consciousness… it seemed important? It’s ready to slip away, she thinks, rubbing her eyes and then brushing away the hair stuck to her forehead. Yuck, she’ll need a bath later.

Emma grasps at the dream, remembers a dark place. Squeezing her eyes shut, she feels a surge of triumph as she catches a glimpse of a light—

“Good morning, Princess Emma. Awake already?” Leticia says, bringing in her water basin.

“Unfortunately,” Emma groans, falling back on the bed.

* * *

Emma remembers learning about the Evil Queen’s reign when she was quite young. Her mother would tell the greatest stories about the woman who’d become her stepmother, doting and lovely and beautiful, but who’d been corrupted by the price of dark magic.

Each year, three months or so before her birthday, a celebratory ball is held at the Royal Castle, a moment where royals and commoners get together as equals to rejoice in the defeat of the tyrannical queen. The Annual Celebration of The Evil Queen’s Defeat.

Even so, Emma can’t help feeling fascinated by the Queen who had reigned alone, who had saved her mother from dying on the runaway horse, who taught her mom the meaning of true love, who was, despite her evil deeds, an intelligent ruler, if the account numbers were right (Emma can’t be sure… it’s all very complex still).

It’s difficult to reconcile the two versions of the Queen in her head.

And Mr. Abbot, one of her tutors, does not make matters easy, and annoys her very much whenever the subject turns to the Evil Queen. He calls her an evil witch. Her skin prickles with anger every time. The Queen was so much more than that.

She is always delighted to learn more about her mother’s time spent as _ bandit _ Snow White, however.

While her father taught her the art of sword-fighting when she was younger, she pleaded and pleaded until her mother began to teach her archery.

It requires _ patience _ and _ steadiness, _ and _ mind your elbow and your feet, Emma. _

Two months after her ninth birthday, her parents had to withdraw from overseeing her lessons, talks of preparations and war council meetings keeping them busier than ever. Therefore, the best instructors were hired to carry out her training.

* * *

Charming rejoices in the small respite, Snow’s hand looped around the crook of his elbow as they leisurely take in the scenery; the oh so blue sky, the green pastures, the birds singing their sweet melodies. It’s a warm day, and they watch Emma following her instructor’s steps and hitting the dummy with precision, her sword movements swift and sure, already dripping with sweat but with joy written in her features. She has learned so much since the first time she practiced with him.

His heart is full with pride.

Emma hasn’t spotted them yet, focused on her training.

“I wish to ask for your forgiveness,” Snow blurts out quietly, even though they are far from any possible listeners. This is meant to be private, he concludes.

He shakes his head, turning his gaze to Snow. “Why would you—”

“We wouldn’t have the need for this protection spell,” she motions discreetly to the outer walls, “if I’d just given up Regina as that very impolite witch wanted.”

“Snow…” he grasps the hand that had tightened its hold on his arm, and mulls over her words. How to assuage her guilt? The guilt that is not only hers, but his, too. “The Wicked Witch hasn’t threatened to expose the secret. Therefore, it would be a bigger issue if we listened to her demands only to have everything out in the open. As long as she remains silent, I don’t see why we should give in.”

Snow heaves a sigh, tired. “As much as it pains me to say it, Regina is our leverage right now.”

David hums. “Yes. You know that witch has been around for a long time, and has taken the Dark Kingdom forcibly. Even before she even approached us about Regina, she was considered a potential threat. And that’s our main concern.”

Snow lays her head upon his shoulder. “I just wish...” she trails off.

_ ...things were simpler. _

_ ...we didn’t have to lie. _

_ I just wish, I just wish, I just wish. _

Charming hears nothing and everything at the same time in their silence. He kisses her forehead, and closes his eyes briefly. “Yes. Me too.”

“Mom, Dad! Hi!” Emma calls, and waves at them with her unoccupied hand.

They both smile and wave back.

“Focus, Emma! We can talk later,” Charming says with a chuckle.

“Okay!” she replies, already poking her tongue out in concentration.

* * *

Lowering herself on the throne, the Wicked Witch allows her fingertips to roam over the armrest design as she ponders just what else could be done to the Palace to make it truly hers. Truly what she deserves. Redecoration is in order.

Her mind wanders. It’s difficult not to think of revenge and explanations these days. Rumplestiltskin is dead, Regina is… locked away, and she hasn’t a clue on how to get to wherever dear darling Cora is.

She sighs, exasperated, and her trusted companion saunters to her, asking her in his language what’s the next step. 

“For now, we wait, my pet.” Zelena tells him, patting his furry head. “Let them be frantic with worry, wondering what the scary green witch will do next.”

She cackles, and her flying monkey hoots in agreement.

“The leverage is mine, for now,” she adds. “I am sure they do not want to let their little secret escape.”

* * *

Snow and Charming applaud, and Emma removes the bow from the string, untucking the violin from her chin.

“How marvelous, sweetheart,” Mom says, tears in her eyes. _ Again. _Emma has played this melody on the harp and on the flute as well, for the last five years or so. It never fails to stir emotions in Snow’s heart.

“It’s truly beautiful, Emma,” Dad smiles at her.

“I wish I knew what I was playing,” Emma comments, placing the violin on the small table in front of the fireplace. “This is the one piece I simply… knew. I can’t even write it down, as if no one else is allowed to learn it.”

Snow gives her a smile. “It’s your own special song, honey.”

“I know, but—”

“I love you, my daughter,” Charming says dramatically, doing his best not to smile just yet.

Emma snorts and gives him an odd look. “Dad…?”

He pulls her in suddenly and hugs her to his chest, despite her half-hearted protests and arms flailing around helplessly. “I love you! And I will always find you!” he exclaims, bringing the tickle monster to the game.

“Dad! I can’t breathe!”

“Snow, do you hear anything?”

“Help!” Emma gasps for air, laughing gleefully, contorting herself as she tries to escape his grip. _ “Mom!” _

Snow chuckles, shaking her head. “Charming,” she admonishes. “Let the poor girl breathe.”

Dad barks a laugh, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Thank you!” Emma heaves a sigh of relief, still giggling. She sits next to her on the settee.

Snow tucks a stray golden strand of hair behind her ear. Her baby girl has grown so much. “We love you, dear heart.”

* * *

_ Remember what you’ve lost, Emma… What have you lost? _

The corridor is hazy and dark, permanent darkness. The bright orb is almost blinding.

“I don’t know what I’ve lost,” Emma cries, _ lost lost lost _ echoing in the dark. _ “I don’t know.” _

She’s not scared. She is not.

The voice begins to question, _ Are you ready to face the darkness— _

She opens her eyes with a gasp, drenched in sweat _ again, _breathing erratic like when she ran from the entrance hall to the grand library that one time she’d been late for her lesson.

“The light!” Emma pants, exclaiming the words to her empty bedchamber, and smiles gleefully. “I remember the dream... I need the light.”


	11. tower of loneliness

Regina pulls up her sleeves, the warmer day getting to her senses, and brushes a hand through her damp forehead. Is it summer? She cannot recall the last time Snow visited, as much as she tries. Sometimes Snow blabbers about these things, and Regina soaks it up like a woman starved. Starved for knowledge, for conversation, for _ words. _Meaningful words.

Ever since the day she met Princess Emma and was confronted by Snow White, things changed — daily visits that had already turned to weekly visits became monthly, though Regina has no way of knowing how long between them.

Lifting her arms above her head, Regina stretches her spine, her joints cracking. Mercifully, this last night was without nightmares (that she can summon now) — she tossed and turned long before being able to fall asleep, yes, but she’d take this alternative over her subconscious attacking her with memories she’d rather forget.

She’s making the bed minutely when she hears Snow’s characteristic steps scuffing against the stone stairs, but doesn’t pause her actions, carries on as if nothing unusual is happening. Her hands shake; this could be _ the _day, the day Snow finally decides it’s been long enough, why should Regina continue living, really? 

Because Snow holds Regina’s fate in her right hand, and the sharp scissors to swiftly cut it in the other.

Snow calls for her, softly, and Regina lets go of her blanket, turns her body slowly, her long hair brushing along her back. She raises an eyebrow in question with her expression carefully blank otherwise, and the Queen says, “Kingdom affairs have kept me busy, but I am here to wish you a happy belated birthday.”

Staring at the ground, Regina takes a step forward, thinking of a response, her chest tight, unknown emotions swirling in her gut. Her birthday. It’s her birthday already.

She opens her mouth but has to clear her throat discreetly for any sound to come out. “What day is it?” Regina asks, her vocal chords protesting. She hasn’t had the habit of speaking much these days.

“The third.”

_ February 3rd… _Regina mentally pretends to box away the date, so as to save herself from being lost again through the passage of time. Stares at the blazing sun outside, skin itching for sunlight. For the wind, the trees, the grass, freedom—

“I will not endeavour to assume you are here only to wish me eternal happiness. Tardily, no less.”

It’s merely a hunch, to be fair. Snow White can be a goody two shoes; she _ could _be saying this from the bottom of her heart. But Regina knows better; Regina knows her.

She knows that Snow’s fingers are probably tapping on her trousers restlessly. Her shoulders are pulled back, trying to copy Regina’s own posture — _ posture is self-respect, _Mother had drilled into her, and the same had been done to Snow White, in gentler ways so as to not startle the girl into tattling on her to her father—

Snow sighs loudly, and Regina swallows, focusing on the present, gripping her dress’ skirts and feeling the fabric between her thumb and forefinger in an attempt to calm down.

“Yes,” Snow says. “I must ask you something.”

Regina rolls her eyes and scoffs, moves to the stool on her left to sit down, done with the conversation. She’s about to lower herself when Snow’s next words reach her ears.

“It’s been twelve years, Regina.”

And that surely catches her attention.

Her body stiff, Regina swivels on her feet, mind reeling — _ she’s been trapped for twelve years. _

_ Twelve years. _

Snow had failed to bring that up for so long…

The last she’d known… it had been about seven, eight years.

Not _ twelve. _

Her tone is filled with resentment when she asks, “What do you want?” angry at herself for being so greedy for any information.

“There’s this witch—” 

“You really believe I will answer anything free of charge,” Regina raises an eyebrow, “just like that?” 

She will not. She may not have anything to call hers anymore, including her freedom, but this… her words are all she has now. She won’t give them up freely just because she’s stuck inside this cage.

Snow nods like she _ knows, _ like she _ understands. _Regina glares at her. “If you answer my question, I shall answer one of yours,” Snow offers, touching the magical barrier, palm facing Regina, who eyes it with disdain.

“You do know I won’t touch that.”

Raising both eyebrows, as if to say _ Do we have a deal?, _Snow seems much less wary and, dare Regina say, exhausted than she was when she arrived.

Curiosity will be the death of her, if this prison doesn’t do the job first. “Fine. I am, I must admit, _ intrigued... _ What could have brought the great Snow White here, to my humble abode? After all, you’ve disappeared for… mont— _ years _ perhaps? So what is it?”

Snow drops her hand, relieved. “This woman… she goes by the name of Zelena.” She watches for any sign of recognition from Regina, and finds none whatsoever. “The… Wicked Witch? Pointy hat and green skin? What did you do to her?”

“The Wicked Witch of the East—? Or is it West?” Regina frowns, mulling it over. Zelena? _ That’s _the witch’s name? “Why the sudden interest? Planning on summoning a cyclone to Oz?”

“Regina.”

“Green skin… then it’s the one from the West. Never met her personally, and never been there,” Regina continues, yearning to hear more of her own voice. It’s always so quiet in here. “I’ve heard they have all sorts of strange magics—” 

“She’s from _ Oz? _ That place is real?”

“Yes. Quite real.” Regina blinks. “Why do you care?”

“She’s taken your— the Dark Palace—”

_ “What?” _

Snow stops, chagrined. She should have said this a long time ago.

“She’s taken the Dark Palace? That’s _ all _ you have to say?” asks Regina, furious. “And you just _ let _her?”

_ “Regina.” _Snow gives her a look. “We didn’t know. Your lands had been abandoned, the castle sealed. We hadn’t known anything was amiss until she threatened the kingdom—”

“The castle. How was it protected?”

“Blood magic.”

“How?”

“Your blood.”

Regina decides not to ask why use her blood and not Snow’s or Charming’s. Idiots. “Where did you— Did you make a deal with—”

“Nothing like that.” Snow shakes her head. “You faced execution. The Blue Fairy thought it pertinent to store a vial of your blood.”

“Of course she did…” Regina says. “Then it’s impossible. She shouldn’t have been able to break a blood magic spell. Not even the most powerful of witches could accomplish such a feat.”

“Well, this one just did.” Regina rolls her eyes. “You really don’t know her?”

“No, never met her in my life…” Regina mutters. “You mentioned a threat. She has threatened you all?”

Snow hums. “She wants something we have, but we won’t give it to her.”

She looks away.

A moment later, when Regina wonders aloud what could the Wicked Witch possibly be after, Snow shakes herself from her daze and brushes it off as hastily as she brushes a hand through her skirts; nothing to worry about, the kingdom is well aware of the threat, the castle is protected. Oh, what is it you wished to know, what was your question?

Regina has more questions than before, but manages to choose one. “How… how is my father?”

Snow smiles. “For the past… two years or so? he’s been quite comfortable in a cottage not far from the castle. We always secure he has enough provisions to last through the seasons. Your father is safe.”

Regina nods, her bottom lip trembling, and presses the pad of her fingers to her forehead, sniffling. “I see.”

“He has helped tremendously with your reign’s accounts and all the… the hearts. And your biography, actually, a few years ago. I may have mentioned it?”

“You did.” Her voice is heavy with sadness and longing; soft, almost… fragile. As if it, along with her heart, could break any minute.

(Perhaps her heart’s already broken.)

She turns away, and goes to the window, a hand pressed to her stomach in search of solace.

Touching her cheek, Regina is surprised to find she’s crying. “You may leave.”

And if her voice catches in her throat as she says it, Snow is smart enough not to mention it.

* * *

_ Remember what you’ve lost, Emma… What have you lost? _

She opens her eyes and spots the orb of light at the end of the dark corridor. This, again? “Show me!” she shouts determinedly. “Show me what I’ve lost!” 

_ Go, Emma. _

She tries to move, but nothing happens. She looks down. “I can’t!” How is she supposed to go, if her feet are always stuck? 

_ Don’t you miss it? _

“How am I supposed to miss what I don’t remember?” Emma whines, crossing her arms.

It’s always the same dream, the same disembodied voice, the same dark, scary corridor. It’s always the same...

Then, the same question comes:

_ Are you ready now? _

_ Are you ready to face the darkness and reach the light? _

“Yes,” Emma answers resolutely, unable to tear her eyes away from the light.

Suddenly, a strange force draws her forward, pulls at her feet. She stumbles through the corridor to reach the fluttering glow on the other side. Her palms encircle the small white orb with care, and the powerful feeling she’s sure she’s felt before is absorbed in her hands—

Emma opens her eyes, not in the land of dreams anymore. She holds her hands up to her line of sight, and has to blink several times to make sense of… the shimmering in her palms.

* * *

That day, Emma rediscovers her magic.

She jumps out of bed before the sun has even made its appearance, standing in the middle of her bedchambers, unable to stand still, jumping from the excess of energetic excitement—

She’d never imagined it was possible—

Emma pinches her arm as her Dad taught her to do whenever she doubted she was awake after a nightmare, and immediately exclaims, “I’m not dreaming!” rubbing the sore spot.

Does this mean she’s a witch?, Emma considers, puzzled, eyeing her glowing palms, and, and— there’s a powerful humming beneath the surface—!

What else can she do? How did she obtain this?

All these years, something was missing, and now she has it back.

She’d lost it.

_ How did I lose it to begin with? _

She has to show it to Mom and Dad, maybe they’ll know. She has to show them the beauty of this— 

She’s just turned in the direction of her door when reality stops her from taking another step.

_ dangerous corrupts must be stopped evil _

Every word her mother and father had ever used to describe magic lodges itself in her throat, and her smile drops, just like that.

Her elation is very short-lived, indeed.

* * *

That same day, Regina attempts to rediscover her magic.

“Come on, damn you!” Regina’s voice rises in volume. She flinches as the prickling sensation travelling through her arm and to the rest of her body gets a tad too overbearing.

She closes her palm, blunt nails scratching her skin.

Regina’s currently sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor; absolutely agitated, aching for her magic.

It started with a dream — it usually does, these days, though it was something she couldn’t exactly understand in its entirety. Something powerful had coursed through her veins, and she’d been violently woken up from it. Something... beneath her skin felt like it was being strummed in an incessant rhythm, like if the strings of a harp were being pulled rapidly. And if she concentrated long enough, there was a small thread of giddiness, deep down, swallowed up by guilt and despair.

And she couldn’t _ understand _where it came from, just like the other times conflicting emotions latched themselves onto her.

(She wondered, then, whether she was truly going insane.)

The small enclosed space has her feeling more uneasy than usual today, and so she’d taken to pacing back and forth when she finally mustered the strength to get up from the bed. Then she went to the window, peaked outside and had wanted so much to _ feel _ the nature she punched the glass once, twice, _ thrice _ in hopes that it would crack, break, shatter under her hands.

Quite unfortunate it didn’t give in, she thinks—

—only a nasty bruise on her knuckles— 

—and it will be gone by the morrow—

Regina adjusts her stiff posture, lets out a shaky breath, and opens her hand. “Come on. It can’t be _ that _difficult,” she complains aloud to herself.

She had also tried reading again the book about the peasant girl who met the peasant boy and they lived _ happily ever after. _ It had been sickening the first time (she didn’t get past the first two chapters then) and so she quickly gave it up (roughly two hours ago; not that Regina _ knows). _ A tiny part of her heart had hurt when she pinpointed the echoes of what her life could have been.

Today had been so far a terrible day, filled with anxiousness and unquietness.

Between those two hours and now, she’d lain on the mattress, facing the wall, and brushed her thumb repeatedly against a tally mark, white and new, carved earlier today from a loose pebble. It’s next to five marks grouped together with a line crossing it, faded from the years it’s been since she had last marked one.

Today is February 6th: three days since Snow’s visit and her strange questions and strange answers and strange strange strange—

_ There! _

Regina nearly yelps at the wonderful sensation, her momentary anger fuelling the small flame now on her palm, a flickery tiny thing, which grows until it almost resembles those fireballs she’d used to cast without thinking twice.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, smirking.

She stares at it, lets her rage filter into her bloodstream, focusing on maintaining the fire alive—

_ she’s _ alive—

it’s joyous, it’s, it’s…

—she must practice, practice again, practice more, and eventually, eventually she’ll get out of here and Snow White’s beating heart will crumble to ashes between her fingers—

...it’s… it’s _ pain _

and she’s suddenly seized by a tremor on her arm so strong she gasps, tightening her hand into a fist, breaking off the connection to her magic before the trickle becomes a flood she cannot control. 

She lets out an anguished cry.


	12. tiny seeds of hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief allusions to marital abuse/rape

Her carefree, restless, joyful side balances the intense focus our princess places onto her reading as she grows older, famished for mastering anything to which she sets her mind. Of course, in her pursuit for _ more and more and more, _it’s no wonder she manages to find a small collection of old, tattered books hidden in plain sight within the private Royal Library.

There in the bottom of a shelf in the corner of the room, inconspicuous by their dark colors and faded covers, are books that certainly did not belong to their family. Perhaps they belonged to King George? Emma does not inquire after their origins to her parents, and knows where to hide the tomes in her bedchambers.

Half of those books contain texts written in foreign languages. Emma does not let it deter her in the slightest. She studies what _ is _available, all by herself, her own little secret.

And begins to unravel the mysteries of _ magic. _

Time teaches her that magic is not evil, nor corruptive; magic by itself simple _ is, _simply a tool which can be used for either good or evil (or somewhere in between). The first time she found this piece of information, Emma cried for hours, a weight lifted off her shoulders. She will not turn evil overnight for having magic, as much as Mother tried to instill that fear in her.

_ Why, _ Emma asks herself constantly. _ Why do that? _

Had the Evil Queen truly terrified everyone that much?

Whatever the answer to that might be, intentions and the wielder’s will are what really matters, for magic is inherently neutral.

It _ can _ be dangerous, of course, as books warn her that _ magic always comes with a price, _but Emma is willing to pay it if it means understanding how it works.

Time teaches her to embrace her powers, and master her grip on her positive and negative emotions, lest they overflow her and lead to unwanted bouts of magic.

* * *

“Nothing. You’ve got nothing. That’s what you’re telling me.” Zelena pinches the bridge of her nose, leaning back.

“Well, y’see… I haven’t a way in, ma’am. Bu’ we could, um…” the boy clears his throat. “Well. We could…”

“Stop giving me the runaround,” Zelena says, baring her teeth. “A mere mortal couldn’t get inside the castle?” (A bit of a stretch, for Zelena is a mortal as well. Oliver does not need to know that.)

She studies her informant, who flinches at her response. He’s a short one, Oliver. And thin. It helps him go unnoticed. She hasn’t bothered to ask, but it’s clear he’s quite young, and his tiny goatee won’t change that, it does not make him more mature. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, he emanates this jittery and restless energy that can make anyone as nervous as him. “Y’need to be on the list to get past the gates. Got quite the burn when I tried sneekin’ in climbing the stones.”

Zelena splutters, “Y-you—! What did I tell you!”

“I don’t remember,” he says in a strangled voice.

“Oh, _ you don’t remember?” _ She rises from the throne.

“N-no,” he shakes his head.

She goes down the three steps and then she’s nearly nose to nose with him. To his credit, Oliver doesn’t move back, though he’s clearly shaking. “I told you the castle itself could be dangerous,” she says slowly, staring right into his eyes.

Summoning a fireball to her palm, she raises an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Remember what magic can do?’

Oliver nearly faints, eyeing it with trepidation.

She closes her hand, extinguishing the fire. “I need a way in, but obviously the castle is magically protected, otherwise I’d be in already, you stupid child.”

She swivels on her feet, the skirt of her dress swishing as she paces. “So don’t attempt something like that again.”

Oliver visibly relaxes before registering her words.

“Wha— Wait a moment, ma’am, I ain’t a child—”

Zelena stops, glaring at him. She zeroes in on his bandaged hand, then points at it with a green fingertip. “Yes, I can see that.” She says dryly.

He has the decency to look abashed as he slowly hides his hand behind his back.

Zelena resumes her pacing.

“Hmm. So you need to be in a list…” she repeats, going back to the throne.

Oliver nods.

“Clever,” she mutters, hands clasped together as she leans back against the seat. “A fake name won’t work. That list is clearly magical.”

“I-I could go in—”

“Be quiet—” she starts, then pauses and gives him an incredulous look. “Listen to yourself. What are you going to do once you’re in? Demand an audience? Find what I’m looking by yourself? Oh! Kidnap the princess, mayhaps?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but Zelena cuts him off, telling him not to answer that.

Four years since she _ visited _Snow White and Charming, and she hasn’t found a way to get to Regina yet. In the meantime, she did start preparations for the eventuality of war, but so did them. Zelena knows now she’d been too overwhelmed by the idea that Regina was oh so close; Regina was alive; she could finally show Regina she had everything and Regina had nothing—

She’d been too overwhelmed and hadn’t taken the opportunity to find Regina then, while she _ was _inside the Royal Castle and no one had any means to contradict her actions.

Now, her only threat is revealing their secret to the kingdom, but that won’t allow her inside.

She needs another bargaining chip… something more important than Regina (she doesn’t understand why they keep Regina, to be honest) that they would never be willing to let go…

It suddenly clicks, and Zelena looks every bit like the cat that ate the canary.

“Oliver, please, do listen carefully this time.”

* * *

While the Princess grows and learns and discovers what’s out there in the Enchanted Forest from books in the safety of the castle grounds, Regina realizes she’s being forgotten, little by little.

It’s been roughly around eight springs since the day she met Emma, who is now sixteen, and while anyone else might know that, Regina knows not how much time has passed.

Some days, sleep eludes her. She can’t shake the anxiety that something awful is about to happen, someone is bound to find the tower just as Emma had, and will end this, will bring an end to her misery. Fear does not allow her to beg for it, for as much as the isolation hurts physically and emotionally, she fears death. (Nobody comes. Nothing happens.)

Her stomach clenches in chronic pain, and she cannot understand what’s causing it. Every inch of her body hurts. Breathing shallowly, her chest tightens and she gasps for air.

Whenever rain pelts down and lightning strikes, she flinches from the loud noises, not used to them anymore. She hears booming voices, a stench suddenly all over her, a sharp alcoholic breath against her cheek, and her prison transforms before her very eyes: harsh thrusts into her body mingling with the sound of thunder rumbles; a lonely castle; not allowed to leave after her mother’s spell. Neglected. Locked inside her bedchambers. Her youth taken from her violently.

Those nights, Regina screams. Scratches herself until blood is close to the surface, trying to will away the tingling sensation in her body. Gets nauseous. Sobs and trembles and begs for forgiveness, shouts

_ “Stop! Please, stop!” _

and cannot seem to remember who or what causes this reaction. But it’s better this way, is it not?

Sleep eludes her. She feels numb the next day, stays silent, watches the world outside with longing. _ She deserves this, _she knows.

Her resolve wilts away slowly, quietly, surely.

* * *

Emma’s cheekbones are more pronounced now she’s had a final growth spurt, and her weekly training gives her the hint of muscles — “Look, Dad, soon I’ll be stronger than you!” she’d said proudly, flexing her bicep.

And so most of Emma’s teenage years pass in this fashion: her days consist of lessons, always different and wide-ranging: violin, archery, painting, history, etiquette (she hates those wholeheartedly), sword lessons; the list never-ending.

She keeps herself occupied, and avoids her parents as much as possible without being too obvious she’s about it.

And so, any variations of ‘_ How was your lesson today, Emma?’ _ will get her mom a tight smile and a curt ‘ _ Fine.’ _ as an answer.

Today is no different.

Charming motions for the servant to serve him and Snow some wine, while Emma gulps down her water. She’s just been outside, riding her horse, Unicorn. (Seriously? What was young her thinking?) The sun’s been unforgiving during the last days of this particular summer, and Emma feels it acutely as her cheeks burn and her hair starts sticking to the nape of her neck from sweat. She’d asked her tutor if she could be excused earlier, and now, here she is.

“Unicorn behaved himself, then?” her father asks after he sips his drink. He regards her with a soft smile, and Emma’s chest twinges slightly with guilt. Despite the feeling that they’ve been hiding something from her, her parents do love her very dearly, she knows.

It’s just… so _ frustrating _ to know truths are being omitted at every turn. She can sense these things. And it’s so painful to hide a part of herself. It’s so infinitely unfair every time she’s mastered a spell and her excitement gets caught in her throat because she cannot _ tell her own parents; _a seed of apprehensiveness growing more and more as the days go by.

Even so, Emma swallows and nods, setting down her cup. She doesn’t say anything, eager to leave the table as soon as possible, which means trying to scarf down her meal. 

Their cutlery clink against their plates, and for a while that’s the only prominent sound in the dining room.

And then, “Did you adjust to the new saddle alright?” Charming asks, not yet having given up to get true responses from his daughter. Snow says it’s because Emma’s getting older — she herself had been the same when she was in her teens.

Emma looks up. “Hmm, I think so,” she replies, stabbing the poor piece of meat with her fork. She shoves it in her mouth, and after swallowing it, says breezily, “Though I don’t see why I keep practicing.”

Snow frowns at her, answer rolling readily off her tongue, “Because practice makes—”

“—perfect.” Emma finishes for her, lowering her fork on the plate. This has always been their game, really. Mom will begin one of her catch-phrases, Emma will complete them before she’s done saying them. (Over time, she realizes that the way her Mom grimaces makes it even more amusing.) “I know, Mom. But it’s useless, because I can’t even _ leave _the castle grounds, so what’s the point?”

“Emma…”

“I’m serious! Why am I learning it? I always do the same jumps,” Emma lists it off her fingers, “the same trot, the same gallop. Around the _ saaaame _ fields.” She alternates her gaze between her parents, trying to make them _ understand. _ “What for? To show my jumps to— to you? Or— or my handmaiden? My godmother? Or perhaps the two guards that don’t even _ move _ from their positions unless it’s time to go back inside? It’s _ boring. _And it does not even make sense.” She crosses her arms.

Snow’s posture turns rigid. Charming senses the change in her mood, and clasps her hand in his. “It’s for your safety, Emma,” he says with a decisive nod. “We’ve been through this.”

Emma grunts, and lets her head drop back against the chair with a dull thud.

“Young lady,” her mom says, voice sharp, “correct that attitude—”

She groans loudly, cutting Mom’s response, but not _ caring _ for it in the slightest _ . _

“—and your posture. Good gracious, Emma!”

Rolling her eyes, our rebellious princess asks, whining, “Why can’t I go just past the bridge?” (She does lean forward again, adjusting her shoulders. A small concession.)

“You could send the shadows… I mean, the guards... behind me. More of them,” she adds, her finger busy with the rim of her crystal glass, circling it round and round, the sound grating on Snow’s last nerve.

_ “No. _ Emma,” Snow places her hand in the middle of the table, in a gesture that screams _ Pay attention and obey. _“What makes it so hard to understand?”

Frowning, Emma exclaims, “I haven’t visited the nearest village in _ ages! _I can’t even remember it.”

Snow huffs, retreating her hand. “Charming, please,” she says quietly.

He gives Emma a look, willing her to step down. “One day you will visit. Just not at the present moment, Emma.” 

“I don’t even know _ why _ I’m supposed to stay in,” Emma replies, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“You know why,” Snow enunciates each word slowly.

“It’s so unfair!” she rebutts, her voice getting louder. “I don’t know why— you never tell me _ anything! _ And you never… you never, ever _ listen!” _

“The lands aren’t _ safe, _and you know that, Emma,” Charming interrupts.

“You can’t go, and that’s_ final,” _Snow says sharply, daring Emma to say something.

Snow’s gaze is unwavering on hers, head lifted high. If outside she sounds sure of her answer, on the inside there’s a tightness to her chest, her stomach quivering in fear and doubt. A million different scenarios spring up in her mind’s eye — but the worst of them is letting Emma go past the barrier and never seeing her again. The witch is unpredictable.

So no, Emma will _ not _be leaving until the threat has been dealt with. Absolutely not.

Emma opens her mouth to complain, then stops herself just in time, knowing she’s threading on very thin ice. “Fine,” she says instead, tonelessly, aligning her cutlery on the plate. Staring right into their eyes, anger boiling in her stomach, she pushes the plate away from her. “May I be excused?”

“No.” Snow says just as Charming says, “You may.”

They share a look that Emma can’t identify, but then Snow narrows her eyes and lets Emma go.

* * *

At night, Emma flicks her wrist and, with a resounding bang, her bedchambers’ doors are closed. She throws herself onto the bed and screams her frustrations into the pillow.

That same night, Regina’s limbs ache from one of her failed magic attempts as she gets under the covers, tosses and turns for nearly half an hour and falls asleep with her brows creased in distress.

* * *

_ Remember what you’ve lost. What have you lost, Emma? _

She summons a ball of light to her palm.

“Hello?” Emma calls, throwing the light a few paces ahead, asking herself why she’s here this time.

“Not this again…” She groans. “I found it! I don’t need this, _ thank you very much!” _

_ Thank you very much _echoes through the mostly dark corridor, and it does its trick to break some of her displeasure with the situation. She covers her mouth, snorting.

A moment later, she hears laughter. And certainly not her own. And not like the voice inside her head asking her pointless questions, either. No, this is soft, feminine, husky laughter, coming from... her left?

Emma turns in its direction to see that one of the corridor’s walls now resembles a bowl of water when droplets fall onto the flat surface and disturb the liquid. She can’t see anything of the other side, though.

“Hi?” Emma asks again. “Anyone there?” 

The murky wall ripples and flickers in no distinct pattern, and Regina wonders who she’s imagined this time. Who has come to torment her sleep, to revive unwanted memories?

“Yes,” she confirms, decidedly cautious. This is the voice of a child; therefore, Regina is aware of the possibility that she might have slaughtered this child’s village or imprisoned the mother or something equally horrifying. She holds a hand to her stomach, wondering if it’s possible to feel nauseous in a dream.

“Oh,” Emma sighs in relief. “I’m not alone?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” asks the mysterious voice to Emma. It sparks a flash of… a distant memory, something she once knew. It sounds eerily familiar, but… Emma can’t really place it, can’t really reach the memory.

“You have been here before, then?” Regina asks.

“I keep having these weird dreams! Have… have we met? Before, I mean.” Emma’s brow furrows. “I feel we’ve met before.”

Regina inclines her head, considering the possibility. But— “This is a dream world. That’s impossible.” —she doesn’t recognize the voice, either. 

“A... dream world?” the child tests the words aloud. 

“Hmm, yes. The Dream Realm, if you will. The land of dreams and imagination.”

“How does it work? Does every dream happen in the dream world— and nightmares, too? Why am I aware I’m dreaming, then?” The child pauses, and Regina can imagine her taking a deep breath were such thing necessary in this realm. “I have so many questions!”

Regina chuckles. “Curious little creature…”

“Please, yes, I ought to know—” Emma pauses, remembering something important. “Wait, who are you?”

“I should ask you the same, dear,” the woman replies, and before Emma can talk back, she continues, “But my name is Regina, if you must know. And you are?”

“Emma,” she says with a smile. “I’m Emma. Well met, Regina.”

There’s an important detail about the Dream World: sometimes you forget your awareness in it. Sometimes you take things in stride, and cannot question certain events until you’re awake. For this reason, Regina forgets and cannot associate Emma’s name to the person: she _ has _ met Emma before, and she did not have her memories altered, unlike the princess.

Instead of shock, as one might have expected, there’s mirth in her tone. “Well met?” Regina says. “Were you born in the last century?”

Emma holds her belly as she laughs. “No! Forgive me. My last lesson was on how to greet guests politely,” she explains. “It’s nice to meet you. There.”

“Lessons…?” Regina blinks, suddenly pulled back in. “You’re… Princess Emma.”

“Uh, yes?” Emma tilts her head, throwing her ball of light up and down on her palm. “But you already know that. It’s a dream.”

“Yes,” Regina says quietly, “yes, it is.”


	13. little strands of longing

Regina watches the commoners working several feet below, thinking about last night’s dream. She asks herself what was that place, to begin with, and draws a blank when picturing the books she once owned about the Dream Realm. It’s been years since she’s read any of them and, besides, her memory hasn’t been the best lately, not stimulated for so long.

That place, that dark corridor… she’s never been there before.

What’s Morpheus playing at?

(Luckily, her magic works there. It could have been a nightmare, if she hadn’t been able to have light.)

She can’t say she was not relieved when she wasn’t pulled into a memory meant to agonize and tear her apart; nor a horrifyingly twisted dreamscape.

Shuddering, she grips her elbows and lets the uneasiness leave her body in her next exhale.

She can’t say it wasn’t… pleasant? having another human being _ talking _ to her, _ listening _ to her. No screams, no demands.

Not so lonely.

She tries and tries to find meaning to Emma’s presence to no avail. Why couldn’t she see her features? Why were they separated?

No answer, no answer.

* * *

**_ Dear Diary, _**

_ Last night, I had the strangest dream. I met someone I’m quite sure I’ve met before, but perhaps I’ve only met her in my dreams and I’m confusing things. _

_ I hope I see her again, she’ll be my imaginary friend. <strike>I’ve never had a friend before.</strike> I will tell you if I dream her up again. _

_ I never knew the Dream World existed. _

_ Have I imagined that, too? _

**_ Emma _**

* * *

Several weeks have passed since they met in the Dream World for the first time, and the trees are soon losing their first leaves as autumn gets underway.

Emma trains and stays attuned to her magic, harnesses her power, reads and practices. Doesn’t let her anger at her parents consume her, and channels that anger into focus. Writes in a diary her very nonsensical dreams. Talks to Regina every night.

_ (“Hmmmm.” Emma bites her lip, thinking. She plays with her magic, bringing forth wisps of light to illuminate the corridor. “Oh, I know. Favorite color?” _

_ Regina smiles, staring at the black emptiness above her. It’s so freeing not having to worry about her posture… Lying on the floor was a great idea. “Blue,” she provides, and it’s the truth. She hasn’t been this honest since… since… _

_ “Like the sky?” Emma asks. _

_ Regina hums. “Have you ever seen the Endless Sea?” _

_ Pausing her work with the lights, Emma shakes her head, as if her imaginary friend could see her. She gets sad all of a sudden. “I know the castle stands in the water mostly, but… I haven’t been up close for so long. Not since I was little. I can’t remember.” _

_ That’s true, Regina reasons. She doesn’t have the fresh memory of the ocean, so it’s only fair Emma doesn’t, either.) _

Regina, in her tower, falls asleep with much less apprehension of what awaits her in her dreams. She’s surprised with the ease she talks to the voice of the girl of her nemesis, as though she was anyone else and not Snow White’s daughter. And, in the pauses from that, there’s an in-between. Peace. Moments of peace in which she’s floating in the darkness, and it is not overbearing. There’s safety.

_ (“Do not channel your magic through your anger. Strong emotions give power to your magic, yes, but anger and rage will bring nothing but dark consequences.” _

_ “What if Mom annoys me very much? May I?” _

_ They both laugh at that. _

_ Regina agrees heartily, saying, “Yes, then you must.”) _

And, in the land of the living, their conclusions are the same:

Emma has invented a friend called Regina, whom she feels she’s known her whole life;

Regina has invented a friend that bears Emma’s name; perhaps because she’d been the last person besides Snow White she’d spoken to in the last thirteen years.

_ (“Is this what having a friend feels like?” _

_ And something aches behind Regina’s ribs, because… Why? why isn’t this real, why isn’t Emma real, why is it that a friend has to be a figment of her imagination? _

_ “Yes. I suppose it is.”) _

* * *

Snow knocks again. “Emma. It’s almost tea-time. Do come down.”

From the other side of the door, Emma rolls her eyes, but places the quill pen back in the ink cartridge. She blows the paper quickly to dry the ink.

_ “Emma! A lady,” _ and here Emma scoffs, _ “never misses her tea-time.” _

“Agh, I’m going!” Emma replies, closing her diary with a huff. A _ lady… _“Just a minute!”

She hides her precious writings in the back of the desk’s drawer.

If there’s one thing Emma sincerely does not enjoy… that thing is _ tea-time _ with some _ oh so important _royals who are passing by and wish the best for the White Kingdom and want to be allies from the goodness of their hearts.

“There you are,” Snow says tiredly after Emma pulls the door open. “Finally.”

And all Emma can think is _ please let it not be Prince Frederick, please please please. _

* * *

Regina smiles, despite the small flashes of pain, as she summons a fireball to her palm.

It hurts less when her thoughts are not focused on anger and destruction and revenge.

“Thank you, Emma,” she whispers to herself, and sees, just for a second, the flickering wall.

She almost hears Emma’s soft _ You’re welcome. _


	14. sharing souls

Hard ground and shades of green. Beautiful shades of green, Emma corrects herself… the color of yummy pears and that one emerald dress she owns, the rich blue of the sky offsetting prettily.

Emma narrows her eyes against the sun, and then she hears the clatter of hooves and a cry for help. There’s a pull— when Regina blinks, her heart is already racing from adrenaline as she hoists herself up onto Rocinante and soon he breaks into a furious gallop by her command.

She saves the young girl. “Regina,” Emma says in Regina’s voice.

“I’m Snow,” the girl says, an awed expression on her features. “Snow White.”

*****

“Love…” Regina tells Snow, who listens carefully, tears glinting in the moonlight, “True love… is magic. And not just any magic. The most powerful magic of all. It creates happiness.” 

And Emma knows she has to convince Snow of something.

“That man in the stables. You love him?” the girl asks with sudden clarity.

A surge of true affection floods Emma— Regina— when she remembers Daniel. “With all my heart.”

“Then you must marry him.”

*****

“Mother!” she’s shouting as she runs to Daniel. Overcome with panic, her breathing is fast, a quiver of fear in her chest.

Cora stands a few paces away, glowing red heart in her hand, and Emma’s— Regina’s pleas are in vain, for Mother squeezes his heart without remorse until it crumbles into dust. The ring feels heavy in her finger as she holds him tighter against her, shaking in anger and fear.

“Mother, why have you done this?” Emma asks in deep and painful sorrow, voice cracking with tears.

“Because this is your happy ending.”

“Daniel,” she whimpers, a sob ripped from her throat. She kisses him, over and over. But her kiss doesn’t save him.

Love is weakness.

*****

“—Well, I just knew your mother would let you marry him,” Snow says excitedly. “Once she knew how happy it’d make you. Once she knew how much you love him.”

And Regina slowly exhales an uneven breath, and Emma feels a mixture of dark, painful feelings beyond her comprehension arising from each word that falls from Snow’s mouth.

She almost swallows her tongue as she tries to control her unbridled rage against the girl who had ruined everything.

She jolts up in bed with a deafening scream, which turns into sobs as she calls for— “D-D-Daniel…” She whimpers, choking on the name, struggling to find her breath at first.

Her heart feels as though it has been torn in half, a piece of her turned to dust. She grieves, though if you were to ask her why such uncontrollable crying... Emma wouldn’t be able to provide an answer. Pulling her baby blanket from under the pillow, she hugs it to her chest and cries, sadness and sorrow restraining her in their unloving embrace. 

“I’m— I’m so sorry, Daniel,” Emma mumbles, over and over.

She loses track of how much time she lies there, until eventually, she exhales shakily and kicks the covers away from her heavy body.

If you were to glimpse at the East Wing’s corridor that night, you’d see a pale figure in a cream nightdress sprinting to the King and Queen’s quarters, nearly tumbling the door in her haste, not caring for the two guards stationed before the door, who are discombobulated by her sudden appearance. “Your highness—!”

Her parents are already up by the time she gets through, sleepy frowns on their faces. David, ready to lift himself from bed if necessary, asks her, “What’s the matter, honey?”

And Emma breaks down again. “Mom, Dad,” she cries, throwing herself into bed and to their embrace.

Mom gathers her in her lap, and Emma doesn’t protest — she holds her tightly back, shoulders shaking with her sobs. Snow shares a look of concern with Charming, who rearranges the covers until they the three of them are tucked in. “Emma, what’s wrong?” she asks, then starts rubbing Emma’s back in comforting circles. “You’re scaring us, sweetheart.”

“B-bad dre-dre—eeam— _ Bad dream.” _

“Must’ve been pretty bad, then, huh?” Dad asks quietly, his arm thrown over her and Mom. “Wanna talk about it?”

Emma shakes her head, clinging to them, shivering. “Just… stay here,” she breathes out, voice cracking. “Can I?”

“Yes, darling. Of course,” Dad answers.

* * *

Regina had been thrown from her sleep with Daniel’s name on her lips, and promptly clammed up and cried. It was not a nightmare, no. This time she revisited memories.

It had felt so vivid, it had felt… recent.

She’d had to convince herself twice it wasn’t, twirling the ring on her finger.

Pain, loss, grief mingle and she will refuse to get up for three days.

It’s like the funeral she’d never got for him.

* * *

She watches the paintbrush dip into the green paint, and then applies a brushstroke here, another there on the canvas, as if the wrist moving isn’t her own, as if the hand holding the brush isn’t her own, her mind detached as she remembers the dream in vivid detail.

Though… it hadn’t been a mere dream, had it?

Emma cannot recall Regina’s features exactly, but she’d visited some of Regina’s memories, she’s sure. 

_ Regina _

_ I’m Snow, Snow White _

And that means… she visited the Queen’s memories. The Queen who had died about the time Emma had been born. The Queen who’s been in her Dream World ever since she’d turned sixteen. The Queen whose mother was the one true evil and killed—

She places the brush down with shaky hands, and takes a few deep breaths to calm down.

It doesn’t make any sense, how she saw a memory of something she only knew as a story, one of her favorite stories, in fact.

There is one thing she never knew then, back when she’d been five, six or seven and Mother would stroke her hair and tell her fantastical stories about the Evil Queen before she became evil and terrorized villages and her family.

Snow White had told a secret.

Emma stares at the unfinished figure of a chestnut mare. “I should have let her die on that horse,” she mutters, then nearly trips on the grass as she realizes what she just said, the thought that bubbled to the surface when rage festered behind her ribs. Though that rage is not her own.

Snow White had told a secret, a Mother hadn’t loved her child, and Regina had paid the price.

She paints those fields and can almost see the horse galloping furiously.

She paints until the sun is setting and there’s greens, blues and brown shades all over her arms and face.

Emma feels a little more settled, afterwards.

* * *

David climbs the narrow passage’s stairs with uncertainty. He's promised Snow he'd visit Regina in her stead today, but now he's not quite sure what to expect.

In no time he reaches the neglected corridor, the door at the end of it mocking him with its completely normal presence. Too bad they couldn't nail a wooden board above it signaling 'DANGER, KEEP OUT'. Because that’s how it feels: he shouldn’t be here.

He pulls the door open with a heavy sigh, thinking it's been about... four, five years, give or take, since he last visited the Queen? She’d been very unresponsive then, so he can’t exactly pinpoint when it was exactly.

(Yes, it has been a long while since Charming visited the fallen Queen. If he cannot recall how many years it has been, he imagines it feels longer for Regina.

And there had been a time when he'd visit daily to bring her food, but those days are long lost in his memory as well. Regina wasn't eating anything, would keep it untouched on the small table and he'd take it away without a word.

She doesn't need it, really…

...her organism will be preserved until the day she leaves the cell, which he doesn't think is very likely to ever happen.)

"Hmm, the shepherd. How quaint." Regina's voice is rough like the bark of a tree and her tone as dry as the desert of Agrabah. "You've seen better days, though. Haven't you? Look at all those gray hairs," she says, face contorting in a sneer.

He avoids looking at her directly to avoid something else: pitying her; it would be absurd to pity the Evil Queen. And so he tells himself that she deserves this. To assuage his guilt, perhaps. But! But she's massacred entire villages; hurt Snow; hurt their friends, their family! 

_ She deserves this, _ he repeats in his head until it rings slightly true to his ears and _ his ears only. _

"I could say the same, Regina. I believe _ you _have seen better days." He walks forward, hands clasped behind his back as he glances at the bright yellow sparks from the iron bars. "You don’t look a day older from the last time I saw you."

"Why are you here?" Regina snarls at the jab, finally rising from the stool — with difficulty, David notices, because she winces. She looks… as though a gust of wind would take her away soon; she looks tired and weary. "Go ahead— throw some insults to my face, have at it," she says threateningly, sharply, but it lacks intent. It lacks strength behind her words, he realizes. (And she’s aware of it, too.)

She just sounds _ tired, _ David thinks again, and his lips immediately press together in a slight grimace.

"Snow was helping Emma with something today, so I volunteered to pay you a visit instead."

"Her little lapdog, hmm?" She shows him her teeth in what's supposed to be a derisive smile, but it plummets suddenly, as soon as she says, quite seriously, "How's the precious child?"

"None of your business," David barks back.

Regina rolls her eyes. "What, you think I'm going to corrupt her from inside this cell if you tell me her age? Slowly turn her against you?" Her eyes widen as she continues, mockingly, "That would be fun, now, wouldn't it? I hadn't thought of it. Had years to prepare, too." She clicks her tongue in dismay. “What a waste of my endless time… After all, I’m not a day older from the last time anyone has seen me.”

"Shut your mouth, Regina."

"Oh, and the lapdog bites," she laughs.

David scoffs, shaking his head. "You're never leaving this tower," he says wilfully.

She stops laughing quite abruptly, and her expression is hauntingly tormented, eyebrows pulled together, the crease deep and evident. He doesn't feel better, like he imagined he would, for bringing her down a peg or two. Instead, he swallows with difficulty the shame for the words he voiced aloud.

He needn't have rubbed salt in the wound.

Still staring at him but not really seeing him anymore, which is very eerie, she asks again, "How's the princess?" which translates to 'How old is she?'

And David knows. Knows she does not mean anything by it besides learning how much time has passed. So he says, "She's sixteen. Emma is sixteen."

Her mouth forms an 'Oh' that never leaves her mouth, like her voice got stuck in her throat.

She doesn’t say anything else after that.

* * *

It's been _ sixteen years. _

For a long time, Regina lies on the ground and stays there, not fully assimilating the implications of so much _ lost _ time. Then, waves of repressed longing come forth and demand her attention with sudden focus.

She's truly a masochist — her arms outstretched in front of her line of sight, Regina counts on her fingers, one by one, the first things that come to mind she misses.

One - touch, human touch: a hug, a kiss, affection, skin to skin contact;

Two - the sun, sunrays, sunsets, sunlight: her tanned skin, flushed cheeks from the heat;

Three - Daddy: his warmth and love and his forgiving nature;

Four - love (though this one has been missing for quite some time);

Five - makeup: painting her lips a dark red, mascara on her lashes, eyes covered with eyeliner, cheeks rosy with paint;

Six - desserts, sweets: fingers smeared with dark chocolate and delicious cake;

Seven - horses: riding Rocinante through the fields surrounding her palace;

Eight - water, the ocean, lakes, a bath: cold water on her feet, droplets falling from her recently washed hair;

Nine - desire, being desired: lust, pleasures of the flesh with another;

Ten - nature: from every pebble to every bug in the world.

And when the stars are already gleaming in the sky, by the end of her wonderings, her hands are clenched tightly in fists; she’s trapped her wishes inside her palms. She hugs them to her chest.

Her mind easily creates each and every one of those things for her; for imagination can be a powerful thing indeed. No matter how hazy it is to recall the exact flavor chocolate has as it melts on her tongue; or how Daddy smells of sandalwood and... the happy childhood memories of home; or how a lover will throw their head back and moan at her touch; or how beautiful the sight of the waterfall near the Summer Palace is…

It does not matter. It is enough today to imagine and ache with longing for those things she yearns for.

(And will never take for granted anymore.)

For it can be ripped away from you. If you deserve it.

_ I deserve this. Oh I deserve it. _ Regina... she's way past the point of believing her imprisonment was an injustice. _ I was a monster. _

Regina— actually, _ The Evil Queen _ has never held any hope in her hands. A heart— several hearts, yes; blood as well. She's held pain and suffering and disgrace and revenge in abundance. Not hope. Not since she'd pray to the fairies and hope for a loving mother, not since she’d pray to the gods and hope for a future with Daniel, not since she’d pray to the stars and hope for an escape from an ugly and corrosive marriage to a kind and fair king who was a bastard and an abusive husband.

_ But when will this punishment be over? Will it ever be enough? _

So her willfulness and resilience have dwindled as the years passed and no way out was found, ever.

And there are sixteen years between then and now — sixteen years since she lost _ everything. _ (And what was everything? Revenge? Was that all she had? How will she get revenge now? Does she even want to anymore?)

Thus Regina stays there and contemplates her whole existence, very self-aware for the first time in a very long time. But who knows, time is an illusion inside a tower where time stands still and the days repeat themselves and she remains the same.

* * *

Snow is removing her earrings when Charming re-enters their bedchambers, already in his night clothes. “And how was Regina?” she asks distractedly, setting down the jewelry on her vanity table.

“I told her Emma’s age,” Charming blurts out, sitting on top of the bedcovers.

“Why?” Snow watches from the mirror as he winces, and then turns around to look at him properly. “Charming… I told you—”

He heaves a sigh. “I know… It’s…” He runs a hand through his hair, disgruntled. “To be fair, it doesn’t matter whether she asks how long it’s been since she lost, or how old Emma is. It’ll practically be the same answer.”

Sitting next to him, Snow places a kiss on his cheek to reassure him. “I’m not… angry. It’s just… I’ve been afraid to say Emma’s name in front of her, ever since…” She shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is… It’s alright. Regina deserves to know this, if she so wishes.”

David maneuvers himself until his head falls on the pillow, and Snow immediately cuddles to him. “I’m not sure it was for the best,” he comments. “She was spooked, afterwards. Barely said a word until I left.”

“It’s one thing to wish it, another to have it, I suppose.”

He hums, agreeing. “And how was _ Emma _today?” he asks. “We forgot to talk more about what happened yesterday.”

Snow hides her face between his neck and shoulder. “We strolled around the grounds. She seemed better today, I suppose. Wasn’t talking much to me, but she showed me yesterday’s painting anyway. A beautiful horse. Reminded me of Regina’s horse, actually. It reminded me of Regina saving me, would you believe?” She chuckles, hugging him. “Memories come up so suddenly.”

“I’ve never seen her so shaken.”

“The nightmare caught her by surprise, it’s been a while since the last one.” David replies. “It just made me miss my little girl.”

“Time went by so fast. Feels like it was yesterday she’d hide under our bed and ask us to find her.”

They laugh, reminiscing, and it feels good, feels good to forget for a while that their relationship with their daughter has been severely affected by lies and too much protection. Feels good to pretend Emma doesn’t have moments when she can’t bear to talk to them because she hasn’t left the castle for at least seven years of her existence; or will never ever be a knight because she has duties to fulfill as the future queen.

They had wished during her youth they could give her this.

It was not meant to be.


	15. lost stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: allusions to marital abuse/rape

Between Emma’s sixteenth years and then her seventeenth birthday, our princess mostly trains and gets challenged by men who think she cannot beat them on sword-fighting — because she is ‘just a girl’ (guess what happens: she wins every fight). They are quiet after that.

She huffs and complains to her friend Regina in her dreams that her parents are very overbearing and some days she just wishes she could run away from it all.

It’s worth mentioning that Emma and Regina continue to share memories and a Dream Realm, and sometimes it veers towards draining and too much.

Although they share memories, they don’t exactly talk about them. Whether the Dream forbids it, or they simply do not wish to open that can of worms, well… It’s up to anyone to decide.

Their souls seek to learn everything there is to know about each other; an even exchange of those memories where your heart soars and those where your heart shrivels from the dryness of loneliness and self-loathing and darkness.

And thus, two years and a few months go by and soon it is July.

King Thomas, Queen Ella and Princess Alexandra visit the White Kingdom. It seems Emma's parents are finally finishing negotiations with their kingdom.

Emma is not happy at all — she'd been hurried from her sword lessons to greet the royals, and stood next to her parents with a fake smile in the entrance hall wearing a loose cotton shirt and riding leather pants. She’d completely forgotten about this visit, and her mother’s disappointed gaze upon her left a bad taste in her mouth.

She's never found Alexandra to be very pleasant company. They'd been somewhat friends when Emma was young, but one day they'd been running around the castle and Alexandra fell and blamed Emma for it.

Emma still holds a grudge against her for that. 

That and she’d slowly realized Alex could be boring as hell and didn't really like to play outside. She’d want to act like a lady. Play pretend as a lady. She'd want to knit and gossip about boys and wonder when she'd meet her prince and read lovey-dovey poems.

And, well… nothing wrong with that. But that’s not how Emma wishes to spend her time, thank you very much.

Later, in her bedchambers, tuning in to the conversation, Emma watches as Princess Alexandra gushes about the love of her life, Prince Jonathan? John? Joshua? (Emma hadn’t been paying attention), proudly showing off the flashy ring on her finger.

“That's... wonderful…” Emma says, though it comes out as a question, failing to attempt to muster the enthusiasm she possibly should. Mother and Father did raise her to be respectful and polite, even if she now feels like using her magic to disappear from her own bedchambers. Oh, can she produce an illusion of herself and escape, perhaps? Would Alex even notice the difference?

"Yes.” Princess Alexandra’s brows furrow in amusement, as if to ask her ‘Why wouldn’t it be wonderful?’. “I'll be married by the end of winter or the beginning of spring, I suppose. You've received the invitations?”

“Mhmm.”

“He's such a gentleman,” she says with a happy sigh, and Emma doesn't know what to answer, so she gives her a thumbs up awkwardly.

Throwing herself on the bed, Emma listens half-heartedly and wonders if this is some sort of punishment her mother devised for having missed tea-time last week.

Don't get her wrong, she is happy for Alexandra.

These things simply do not interest her. At all.

Is Emma too weird for not being interested in boys?

What if—

“Emma? Are you even listening?”

“Yep.” She stresses the 'p', impish all of a sudden.

“Then, what do you think? Should the roses be white or red?”

Emma barely holds back a groan.

These are going to be the worst five days of her life.

* * *

The arrow flies from her bowstring, and Emma’s already running towards the next target. She pulls and shoots three more in sequence, and hits the mark flawlessly.

She’s kept up her diligent work with the bow, and by now is just as skilled as Snow, who watches with admiration but also apprehensiveness, for how will Emma ever find anyone if she only practices and practices and practices and doesn’t care about any royals they present to her?

“Could we talk now, Emma?” she asks once her daughter hits the last bullseye, puffing and panting from the exercise, breaths transforming into condensation with every exhale into the cold air of the morning.

“Fine.” Emma throws her bow and quiver to the grass absentmindedly. She gulps down the water from her leather flask, then says, “Talk.”

Snow rolls her eyes. “Your father and I are worried, Emma.”

Crossing her arms, Emma juts out her hips, ready for a confrontation. “Oh?”

Snow wiggles her shoulders, like she’s collecting herself. Maybe Emma’s clipped tone is affecting her. Good.

Ever since Princess Alexandra’s wedding two months ago, her parents had suddenly realized Emma still hasn’t settled down.

“If your next words are again about a suitor, Mother—”

“Emma!” Snow begins spluttering, then says it anyways, “You’re nineteen, honey!”

Emma groans, then starts fixing her hair, which by now is very tangled and almost loose from its ponytail. “I know I have a target on my back as soon as I leave the castle, but I haven’t done that in _ ages. _I won’t settle down with a pompous prince who probably won’t let me leave anyway. I refuse, Mother. I also refuse to marry if not for love.”

Stepping forward, Snow touches her arm, squeezing slightly in reassurance. “Emma… We understand,” she says, nodding. “Could you just be… more open-minded about it? That’s all we ask.”

Emma had realized a good few years ago that she likes girls and not boys, when her eyes would stray to admire a girl in one of the balls or when Leticia, her handmaiden, would laugh so prettily her stomach would flutter with nervousness.

She would never know for it to be a possibility if she hadn’t already read hundreds of books from the library. If she hadn’t found a love story between a knight and a queen, there next to ‘Her Handsome Hero’. Emma doesn’t leave the castle grounds, so it’s not like she’s seen much of what the world has to offer.

So she nearly laughs at her mother’s phrasing. 

‘Open-minded’ alright... Emma knows there are a list of things needed for her parents to even consider the idea: 1) she’d have to meet a royal woman who, just like her, wants to marry a woman; 2) she has to fall in love with this hypothetical woman; 3) the woman would have to come from a strategic and influential kingdom; 4) she’d have to find a way to secure an heir to the throne.

So simple.

They just have to understand that she does not wish to include a man in her life.

Perhaps that is why Emma avoids these conversations like the plague — every time, her stomach gets unsettled with dread as she waits for the proverbial axe to fall; Snow and David’s finality looms overhead like vultures hungry for their meal, whether they realize it or not.

“You don’t even have to stop training, honey,” Snow reassures her.

“Oh,” Emma chuckles humorlessly. She shrugs her arm away from contact, not missing Snow’s wounded expression. “Thank you, Mother. I feel so relieved, now.”

Hands closing into fists, Snow snaps, contrite, “Don’t be like that. We’re just looking out for your best interests.”

“You do know where my best interests lay, and that ship has sailed a long time ago.”

Snow heaves a sigh, while Emma takes her bow from the ground and shoulders her quiver of arrows. “Leave those,” Snow points briefly at the arrows stuck in the trees. “Johnson will take care of them. Walk with me.”

They fall in step, a silence full of tension and ruminating on the future.

“I just wish you’d take it more seriously, Emma,” Snow eventually says. “I’m worried you haven’t comprehended what’s to come—”

“I do take it seriously,” Emma says flatly. “Don’t do that, Mom. Don’t—” She sighs. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I never said I will not take it seriously. But the people deserve someone who will care for them. And my heart is conflicted, that’s all.”

Snow stops them just before they enter the armory.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be a knight,” she whispers tearfully. “I’m sorry we couldn’t give you that chance, my darling girl.”

Emma’s neck snaps to stare at her, disbelieving — she thought Mom didn’t remember her musings after gazing at their huge painting in the great hall with reverence when she was younger. She’ll never get to be the White Knight, though.

For her twentieth birthday they’ll make one of hers next to theirs and she cannot even use magic as her symbol, which is so deeply unfair — she’ll carry the sword and the bow. It has to be enough.

She can’t blame her parents for the sibling she never had, and sometimes she feels so guilty for being so disappointed.

“But you can be my little— well, not so little,” her mom laughs wetly, “my brave and fair queen.”

Snow cups her cheek with one hand, and Emma closes her eyes to avoid crying, giving her mom a tiny nod in acquiescence.

* * *

“Are you alright?” Snow is asking again, but there is no response. Something lodges itself in her throat as she stares at the sprawled form sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a vacant look on her face. It takes some time to zero in the chest moving up and down, signifying Regina is breathing, but the thought that she could have stopped scares her very much.

She hits the magical barrier like it is a glass wall, the dull thud in beat with her racing heart. “Regina, I swear—”

Regina makes a sound that resembles a ‘Hmm?’, not properly acknowledging her, but it is something, at least.

Snow’s voice feels so very far away to Regina, submerged under visions of despair and faces of her nightmares.

“Please, Regina.”

“Yes,” she replies in a monotone, not moving her body lest she attract unwanted attention to herself. _ It’s almost night-time, he’ll be here soon. _

“If I have to go in, I promise you’ll regret it,” Snow says determinedly.

And it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Don’t,” Regina warns, curling in on herself, hugging her legs against her chest. She repeats _ don’t don’t don’t _so many times it becomes a mess of consonants and vowels unintelligible to Snow.

It’s almost as if Regina is seeing someone in front of her, where there’s nothing but air.

Snow touches her own neck and briefly wonders if it’s possible she’s feeling her heart trying to leap from her throat.

That person inside the cell is not Regina, and not the Evil Queen either. She sounds frightened, younger, docile—

“Don’t?” asks Snow quietly.

“Don’t touch me. Not today,” Regina pleads, gripping her skirts and making herself as small as possible on the cobblestone floor. Fear floods her for a few seconds, and Snow is privy to her bare soul for the first time in many, many years. Even if she can’t feel Regina’s emotions like Emma does, can’t feel her anguish bursting at the seams, she _ sees _it. Sees Regina laid bare unwillingly.

_ I don’t want it, _ Snow thinks, giving her a panicked look. _ Not… not like this. _

For as much as the Evil Queen is not ready to repent, Snow White is not, either.

“I won’t, I won’t. I promise. Just look at me,” Snow says earnestly, cheeks flushed. “Look at me, Regina.”

Regina stills for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Snow blurts out, then covers her mouth with her hand. _ I have no idea why I said that. _

The fog in Regina’s head slowly dissipates, and she is violently thrown back into reality. Her head rests back against the wall, and she lets out a heavy breath of relief and pain.

Snow slumps against the barrier in relief, too, her previous worrying so strong she forgets her uneasiness of magic when Regina finally looks at her.

Clearing her throat, as though she had screamed and it now itched, Regina croaks out, “How long have you been here?”

Snow ignores her question. “Why were you like that?”

Regina blinks, then gets up with a wincing intake of breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’re— you’re not _ fine. _You weren’t here.”

Clutching her stomach, Regina gets to the bars and stares at Snow with contempt. “And just where do you think I went to? Oh, you caught me,” she says tiredly. “I was using magic.”

Snow huffs, annoyed. “Who were you talking to?”

Regina hesitates, then says, “You.”

“No. Try again.”

“Someone… someone from my past I conveniently remembered today of all days. I’d like to leave it alone.”

“You were scared, Regina.” Snow says, and Regina scoffs. “I’m _ worried.” _

“And whose fault is that? Hmm?” asks the fallen Queen, throwing her long hair over her shoulder.

Snow stays conveniently silent.

“I’m trapped here. In my own nightmares, Snow White. Of course I’m not humming songs about happiness and love or jumping for joy.” Regina continues, hugging her thin body.

“But you could have that, if you’d only—”

“Jump for joy? No, thank you. You can go and jump in the forest you’re so fond of.” Regina’s lip curls in distaste. “Would you like to know what I want, Snow? I _ want…” freedom happiness love _ “...to _ jump _ at your throat and tear it. I want to leave this cell and destroy your life. I want back _ my _ life, I want back my things, my palace, my— I just want you gone!” she shouts.

“Why are you like this!” Snow shouts back, a dull thud when her hand hits the barrier. Regina jumps from the sound, and Snow is too angry to feel guilty or to apologize. “Why can’t you admit you’re wrong? Did you want so badly to be queen you let magic corrupt you—”

“Corrupt me?” Regina asks, incredulous. “I can’t believe... you’ve twisted everything, to make yourself feel better for what you’ve done. To fit your perfect fairytale. Guess what? It was _ not _perfect.”

“You let dark magic fill your heart until, until…” Snow avoids Regina’s eyes, fixing her gaze on the yellow sparks illuminating her own hand with an eerie glow. “We were happy, weren’t we?”

“We weren’t, Snow.” Regina chuckles, but it turns into a sob. “We weren’t. You were. I wanted to _ destroy _you. Every day since the day you couldn’t keep my secret.”

“I was a child,” Snow protests, “and you place the blame solely on me? Your mother was a _ monster!” _

_ I’m a monster. _Regina moves to her tiny bed, sitting down. Her legs ache. Her body aches. Her heart beats fast, for fear of this conversation, the memories she’s buried for so long, and the reminder that she’s lost over a decade because she can’t… she can’t let go.

Snow cannot believe Regina didn’t fall for her outburst. A few years ago, she’d have been blinded by rage, almost hurting herself on the barrier.

“And I’ll have you know that I never wanted any of it,” Regina says quietly. “I never wanted to be queen. I never wanted this, any of this, I… I never…” She pauses, wondering if she really should say anything. No one ever listens, besides Emma. Who is an imaginary friend and doesn’t count. Her life is pathetic.

“Never…?” Snow prompts, calmer and wary of the answer.

Regina heaves a shaky sigh and, with it, admits, “You know who I wanted to marry. And it was _ not _your father.”

“But you didn’t have to— to murder him!” Snow exclaims, tears in her eyes. Years of pent-up frustrations and emotions demanding an audience. “You killed my father and took the throne for yourself. It doesn’t make sense, then.”

“Please leave it alone,” Regina says through gritted teeth. She presses her palms to her tired eyes. Then, fidgeting with the ring on her finger, she warns, voice calm like it hasn’t been in a long time, “Shut up before I say something you won’t like to hear.”

Snow swallows, unease crawling on her shoulders.

It may be one of the first times Snow White is truly listening instead of just taking what she wants from it. 

“You told me to leave it alone when you were talking about… someone from your past...”

Regina ceases her own hand, looking down.

Snow takes her silence as an answer.

_ “No,” _she whispers, shaking her head vehemently. Her face scrunches up, and Regina can see enough of her face to know she’s about to cry. She’s always been an ugly crier.

“Yes,” Regina says. She wonders if she should feel happy for being the source of Snow’s pain. She just feels numb. The angry flames have dwindled so much by now.

“What did he do?”

Regina refuses to answer. Snow’s stomach lurches painfully.

“You told me to not touch you,” Snow realizes suddenly, and hides her face in her hands. Muffled, she asks again, “What did he do?”

Regina grips her own leg to stop it from bouncing up and down in jitters. Her blunt nails bite her skin, and it grounds her. It hurts.

“He was killing me,” Regina says, getting up once more. Snow lowers her hands and crosses her arms tightly against her chest, crying copiously. Regina cries, too, but she doesn’t bother brushing the tears away, unlike Snow. “Your father, you, the castle— it was all killing _me.”_

_“Y-you n-n-nev—never _ said anything!”

Perhaps there is some part of her that still cares for Snow, tiny specks in her blackened heart. She opens her mouth, then closes it, swallowing the words _ You didn’t want to see it. _ “I didn’t.”

“I’m sor—”

“Save your platitudes. Unless you’re letting me out, I don’t want to see your face again.”

_ “Regina—!”  _ Snow chokes out.

“Do you hear me? Are you listening now?” Regina asks, raising her voice. “Leave me alone.”

Snow doesn’t visit again.

It feels good to take the reins for once.

* * *

It is oh so easy to scare these fools. One might even say they are more easily scared than the munchkins, and that really is saying something.

So much fun.

Zelena’s heard recent news that the White Kingdom has support from at least three surrounding influential kingdoms.

Oliver keeps her posted, of course.

The wait is excruciating! She’s never been patient to begin with, but it’s been… a decade.

A decade since she found out that Regina is most definitely not dead.

She’s taken to glimpsing her from the Mirror World, and that occupies her free-time somewhat, but imagine the possibilities when she’s able to get Regina and enact her revenge once and for all… Regina might even know where Cora is.

And yes, that’s amusing, seeing Regina getting worse and worse each day (and remaining young — makes her wonder what have the Charmings done), but it feels like Zelena is getting _ nowhere. _

Then, one day, hands tingling with excess magic, Zelena teleports herself to the nearest village. She’d told herself she just wanted to look, see other people besides her guards, that was all.

The villagers scream as soon as her green smoke clears, practically begging for her to attack, really.


	16. to cherish my heart

####  **HEAR YE**

####  **HEAR YE**

The reigning monarchs of the White Kingdom

**QUEEN SNOW WHITE**

and

**KING DAVID**

cordially invite

all ye nobles and knights and commoners

to the

####  **Annual Celebration of The Evil Queen’s Defeat**

The honour of thy presence is requested

for feasting and merriment at a Banquet to celebrate

the 22nd season of the Evil Queen’s defeat.

* * *

_ Whoever invented corsets, _ Emma thinks, gasping as it is tightened even more, _ can choke on their chimera. I hate corsets so much. _

She paints a pretty picture, she has to admit.

As of late, her parents haven’t exactly splurged on her dresses for the Celebration. And she hadn’t even attended Princess Alexandra’s wedding. She hasn’t worn such an extravagant dress in so long.

The long-sleeved red ball gown is made from the best fabrics available. The A-line skirt flows down over her body quite nicely, and the plunging neckline is not exactly something with which she’s familiar, though the décolletage is… attractive.

Most of her gowns are usually closed in the bodice; the fitted bodice itself glints prettily with the amount of jewels encrusted to it.

Emma looks at her own reflection in the mirror as Leticia styles her hair, pulling it back into an elegant updo, strands of hair falling to the sides of her face. Emma looks so… much… _ older. _ Grown up. She mostly avoids studying herself because it is sure to leave her stomach in knots.

There’s always this feeling of being incomplete.

There’s always this feeling of something missing.

An all-consuming sadness she’s never been able to fully shake, as much as she concentrates on setting it aside. It frightens her, just a bit.

There’s always this feeling of _ I don’t know who I am. _

_ What have I achieved so far? _

_ What have I seen of the world? What have I done? _

_ Am I… happy? _

She doesn’t want to disappoint her parents, and there’s this guilt when she remembers the amount of times she’s come _ this _close to escaping the castle… Not to run away, but just to get away for awhile. See other people, live some adventures of her own, breathe in the flowers that grow outside, fight some battles, touch the grass and the trees that aren’t in the confines of the grounds.

Something about tonight’s ball leaves her unsettled, too — she _ knows _her parents; therefore, she’s also aware of the fact that they are most definitely hiding something from her.

They’ve been evasive. They’ve left her to her devices, seemingly not caring that she spends most of her time obviously avoiding them. They’ve commissioned this lovely ball gown and it could not have been from the kindness of their hearts. 

She’s not ready to—

“Your highness,” Leticia says, catching Emma’s attention as she places one last pin to Emma’s hair. “Is it to your liking?”

Nodding softly, Emma thanks her.

“There’s a silver necklace to your side,” Leticia gestures to it with her neck. “Your mother selected it for you. May I?”

Emma swallows. “You may.”

The last thing she does is place her diamond tiara on her head.

It is always so heavy.

* * *

The celebration is an enormous affair as always.

People come from all corners of the Enchanted Forest to visit, and the richer kingdoms make a few donations to help with the event.

(Snow has never enjoyed them.

The entire thing was a sham; they’ve been deceiving the kingdom for so long, and for what purpose, really?

The Wicked Witch could tattle at any second.

And Regina is timeless, several feet above them, withering away. Twenty-two winters since her defeat and Snow still cannot bring herself to let her go.

Now it is nothing more than an awful din of laughter, shouting and music.)

There are too many people to count, mingling and enjoying themselves; the cellos, trumpets and harps resonate through the large room; and the banquet is filled with luxurious foods and expensive wine.

“Look at her, Charming,” Snow whispers to him, eyes filled with tears. Tears of happiness, _ of course. _ “She’s… she’s the belle of the ball, certainly.”

David makes a sound in agreement, but doesn’t say anything. His palms are sweating. 

If you were to take a glimpse inside the minds of the King and Queen tonight, you’d find a multitude of reasonings such as

_ treasures are dwindling _

_ but should we— _

_ we need more forces _

_ we need alliances _

_ Emma will be devastated _

_ we need gold— _

and, in the end:

_ The kingdom needs us. _

“Will she understand?” David asks her.

Snow fights the urge to fidget with her fingers, recalling Emma’s wide eyes when they pushed her to dance with Prince Frederick. “I’m positive she will,” she says slowly, not feeling positive at all.

“Your majesties,” says the recently crowned queen, Abigail, a hint of a smile on her lips, coming to stand by the two royals. King Frederick bows his head. “Don’t they look enchanting?”

Despite their conflicted countenance, Snow and Charming nod.

“I do believe they’d make quite the pair,” King Frederick adds, admiring the dancing couple. He’s hinting at something both Snow and Charming didn’t want confirmation of.

Emma lets Fred guide her through the dance, trying oh so hard not to fall asleep because he doesn’t say anything! he doesn’t talk! Ever since she met him when she was sixteen or so all he’s done is agree with what she says and tell her how enchanting she is. Maybe he hopes his good-looking face will distract her from how boring he is. 

His palm is sweaty on her. And his grip just below her breast toes the line between acceptable and indecent.

_ Seriously? _ “Am I distracting you?” she says, annoyed, watching as he snaps his gaze back to her eyes from where it had lingered _ again _on her chest.

“N-not,” he coughs, “not at all, my princess.”

“I’m not your princess,” Emma says, showing off her teeth in what might resemble a smile most days.

“Forgive me,” he says distractedly, shaking his head.

She doesn’t answer. He wasn’t even being sincere anyway.

He’s stiff, like something is bothering him. He keeps glancing at something over her shoulder. Fred just looks nervous.

On their next twirl, Emma does a sweep of her surroundings, and spots her parents and the monarchs of the Phrygia Kingdom talking amicably. She looks away, something churning in her stomach.

Fred clears her throat, then opens his mouth, forming words and dismissing them. He uses a few twists and turns to arrange his thoughts, clearly preparing to say something important, and she can’t, she can’t— 

“What would you say if...” Prince Fred trails off, voice cracking. No amount of preparation is enough. He’s sweet, yes, but this is going in a direction Emma definitely does not want, if she’s understood it right. (She has.)

“What would… um…” he starts again when the beat turns slower, avoiding her eyes and her chest this time. “If we —”

“Shit!” She thinks and _ says _it aloud, even, but fortunately it comes out as a squeak.

“What was that?” Fred asks, frowning.

“I-I need some,” Emma officially interrupts him, eyes wide, mouth dry, “something to eat—?”

His body slumps perceptively. “Are… are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“Something to drink, then.” She shoots him a smile. “Yes, um… Will you excuse me, it’ll only be a moment? I believe… m-my feet need rest.”

“Of course.”

She disentangles from him. Bunches the gown skirt in her hands — the urge to rip the dress to shreds strong — and shuffles backwards in the direction of the royal table, snatching a wine goblet from a tray on the way. She discreetly moves her other hand and sparks fly from her fingers as she takes a seat, breathing with difficulty through her nose.

People dance and eat and celebrate and the orchestra continues playing, but Emma only has ears for the happenings in the other side of the room. Thankfully, no one bothers her or tries to include her in their conversations once she’s accommodated and focused.

_ “Oh, don’t worry. Emma gets overwhelmed sometimes,” _ Snow is saying, and Emma wants to scream, but she stays silent. Takes a long sip of wine and _ listens. _

_ “Nothing to worry about.” _ Her father says.

_ Nothing to worry about? _ she asks herself, rolling her eyes. _ That’s outrageous. _

Was Prince Frederick truly attempting to ask her hand in marriage?

She downs the rest of her drink, then sets down the glass. A young girl catches her eye, shyly waving at Emma from the other end of the long, rectangular table clothed with decorated cloths. Emma gives her a small, trembling smile in return, briefly wishing for simpler times. Times when her biggest desire was to start sword lessons or to ride horses.

Now, her biggest desire is to escape all of this.

_ “Poor thing,” _ says Queen Abigail. _ “Our Fred shall ask properly for permission in a month or so. Would that be agreeable?” _

_ “Yes,” _ say her treacherous parents in unison.

Bringing a shaky hand to her forehead, Emma blinks, wondering if this is not a nightmare. She cuts off the connection with the conversation, and the hubbub previously in the back of her mind comes to the forefront, too fast, giving her whiplash.

It’s too much, too much, too much. 

_ Yes yes yes _

Her blood roaring in her ears, she tries to block the discordant sounds around her. She wants to shout, _ You’re all playing it wrong! It’s dissonant, it’s off-key— _

“Your highness ——?” a voice asks from her right, but it sounds distant. 

Distant.

So very far away.

_ Run away. _

A hand touches her own. “Your highness, are you alright?” and it snaps something inside of her, and she finally breathes in and out rapidly, thinking and thinking of unwanted decisions and the steps forward—

“Yes.” Emma answers in a monotone. Turns her head in the woman’s direction, composing herself. She finds Queen Aurora’s worried expression staring at her. “Yes, I’m alright. I need some fresh air. If you’ll excuse me?”

She’s almost vomiting her own heart when she gets up.

Emma leaves the ball before the speech about the Evil Queen’s defeat starts. She wouldn’t be able to handle it on top of everything else. Slightly drunk on wine, she escapes through the hidden passage that lead her right to her own bedchambers.

She calls for her handmaiden and stands motionless and quiet as Leticia removes the dress, piece by piece. Leticia is in the process of unlacing the corset when Emma starts crying, cutting uneven lines of black coal through her cheek, her makeup completely ruined.

Leticia falters, and Emma half-whispers, half-sobs, “Don’t say anything, please.”

“Alright.”

The last time Emma had felt such anguish, had been engulfed in such despair and sadness, she’d been sixteen.

And it hadn’t even been the pain she’d felt from the knowledge that she’ll never be who she wants to be.

It had been the pain from Daniel’s death, so strong and so vivid, she’d believed for a moment it had been herself losing him, and not Regina.

And later, she thinks, sobbing on her pillow, she’ll too get to experience being married to someone she doesn’t love— to a man— she can’t— why!

“Why me,” she shouts to the castle walls, hitting her bed with her fist.

This overture makes perfect sense on paper: Midas’ touch turns everything into gold. The White Kingdom needs gold to pay for the extra cost coming from war expenditure. The Phrygia Kingdom has probably offered gold in exchange of…

_ ...my hand in marriage, _is her last coherent thought before she cries herself to sleep.

* * *

It’s been at least a week since Regina and Emma last met in the lonesome dark corridor with its rippling wall. Their connection hasn’t waned, though it has settled now their souls have shared enough with the other. Tonight, Emma’s suffering called it forth. They both smiled when they felt the comfort of knowing their friend was on the other side.

(Regina had felt deeply unsettled all day. She had practiced her broken magic, had read a book, played with the forever lit candle to occupy her mind, to distract her from the way she was feeling: a snake crawling under her skin, anxiety in every pore. She cannot understand what’s caused it this time.)

“I never— I never even considered marriage! I don’t want to marry—” _ a woman, perhaps, but— _“a-at least, not now!” Emma backtracks.

She rejoices in the fact she doesn’t necessarily need to breathe in the Dream World. She continues her rant, the orb of light relentlessly thrown back and forth between her hands. “There’s so much I haven’t seen, so much I haven’t learned! What prince will let me do that?”

A scowl on her face, Regina answers, clear and sharp, “None.”

“Precisely! None! Especially _ him. _He doesn’t care, never has. God, I’ve been so stupid!”

“You liked him, then?” Regina’s tone is controlled, though she’s on edge as well, Emma’s emotions echoing her own. “And it was unrequited? Who is ‘him’?” 

“It’s Frederick, Regina,” Emma deadpans.

“Oh,” Regina pushes the strange burning sensation in her chest away with a dismissive hand. Nothing to be worried about. “Don’t marry him.”

“Yes, that’s what I was saying, Fred is a...”

“Fool,” they say at the same time.

They chuckle, and the tension on their shoulders evaporates.

Letting the light hover next to her, Emma sighs and touches the opaque wall with her entire palm. On the other side, Regina mirrors her, palm to palm, close and yet so far. She closes her eyes, thinking—

“I wish you were real,” Emma murmurs, unknowingly saying the thought out loud.

Regina opens her eyes. “Run away.” She says determinedly, the words she’d once upon a time wished someone would have said to her. “Run, Emma.”

The words that won’t change anything, she thinks bitterly, because Emma is a figment of her cruel imagination. Everything always resounding, so similar to her past, and cracking what’s left of her heart.

“What? No, no, no—” Emma shakes her head, eyes wide— “I-I can’t run—”

_ “You can.” _Regina lets her forehead rest on the wall. “You can. Leave before it’s too late. Please.”

Emma’s sharp intake of breath fills the walls. She remembers, suddenly, the shadows in their shared memories — shared nightmares — who suffocated her and would never let her out. Her orb of light flickers violently before Emma is able to shake the thought away and it settles once more.

“Okay,” she finally breathes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **the ball invitation saga:**  
me: how were commoners called by the commoners themselves  
commoners?  
ang: um what?????  
me: LOL that made zero sense i'm sorry  
ang: seriously no sense  
me: it's a ball invitation  
ang: oh  
sophy: "Nobles and Peasants alike"  
ang: Yo f*ckwards come to my party  
me: or get ye heads chopped  
sophy: "All ye poor bastard peasants better f*cking come or ye be hanged."  
**the end.**


	17. the approaching night

While preparations were being made in the Princess’ name, inspired by her imaginary friend’s heartfelt advice, Emma has made a decision: for once she will place herself first. But that’s not all their last conversation had inspired, for on the other side of the castle, Regina has finally started to concoct a plan of escape. All it took was saying out loud what her heart had been screaming for years.

_ Run. _

Emma has about a month before Snow and David’s consent is to be asked by the Phrygia Kingdom.

And so she begins to draft on a piece of parchment the possible routes out. (Out of the castle, out of this mess.)

With the aid of candlelight, Emma spends most nights awake, planning and reconsidering and writing down every step possible. It's always been easier for her if she could have visuals on what she was currently studying.

Emma steals food from the storehouse, spaced between the days to avoid being noticed. (She does it with pangs of guilt. But Emma has to remind herself what’s at stake, and that’s her own future.) Nuts, eggs, cheese, some cinnamon, dried apples and other fruits, honey oat cakes — she has to pack lightly, and only items that aren’t heavy to carry by herself.

Then she grabs two bars of lavender soap from her en-suite. The flint and steel for starting fires is a bit tricky, but in no time she has secured them from the workshops. The stonemason doesn’t notice a thing.

Tonight, she was taking her parchments from their hidden places to work on them. One was between a loose rock and another on the wall, a couple spread under the carpet, and a few more locked inside one of her desk’s drawers.

She’s now in the process of fishing in said drawer (after waving her hand to unlock it — magic is incredible! no one has the key besides herself!) for the last of her papers.

“I think that’s it,” she mumbles, blowing a loose blonde strand of hair away from her face. But she checks the drawer again just to be sure — it’s frustrating to stop her work once she’s started just because she forgot one of her sets of notes somewhere.

She pats the drawer’s insides, sticking her arm all the way in, and there’s the sound of crackly paper as her fingers find a small square neatly folded up in the back of it.

Frowning, Emma picks up the folded square, opens it and flattens it on her table.

It's a bunch of scribbles and drawings she does not recognize. ‘THE WEST WING’ in big letters, and in her own penmanship! Slightly wonky and illegible, but her lines and letters nonetheless.

She contours the ink with her fingertips, and tries her best to remember when she had designed this. Something tugs at her brain, but try as she might, the memory is too murky, too distant. Emma must have been very young, then, she concludes.

And quite imaginative, too. The depicted tower does not exist, as far as she knows. Though... she takes a seat, tugging it closer to her, and finally makes sense of the crude lines. It's a complete map to the West Wing's floor plan. Secret passages from her chambers to the entrance hall and then inside the West Wing to the secondary library, and onwards and towards until its supposed main tower.

Something tells her to keep this with her other parchments. It might not be useful, but it seems her younger self thought it was important to keep it hidden.

It wouldn't hurt to visit the West Wing, come to think of it. There are unused things at every corner, maybe some of it could be helpful to take on her journey. This map _ could _actually be useful.

* * *

Regina repeats in a whisper, each word punctuated by a tap on the window, _ “...Seven: I miss horses. Eight: I miss the water. Nine…” _

She stops, a deep crease on her eyebrows. She cannot remember. What was the ninth?

_ Again, _ she thinks to herself. She has to remember. She’ll get out of here, and do everything on her list. She just has to remember it all.

“One: I miss touch…” she trails off again, and softly touches her other hand to the one tapping. “I miss touch.”

(She almost says: I miss being human.)

* * *

** Table of contents **

  1. Items
    1. Food and water
    2. Clothing
    3. Weapons
    4. Other necessities
  2. Avoidance
    1. Guards
    2. Others
    3. Dogs
  3. Best timing
  4. Secret passages
  5. The stone walls
    1. The sewer and water surrounding the castle
    2. The walls to avoid
  6. Where to hide
  7. What to sell

* * *

“Good morning, Princess,” Leticia says, pushing the heavy curtains open. “What a lovely day outside.”

Emma grunts. She swallows how unsettled she feels and instead rubs the tiredness from her eyes. “Too tired to notice.” 

“Rough night?” asks Leticia absentmindedly, picking the heavy dress from the wardrobe and placing it carefully over her bedsheets as Emma hauls herself up.

“Hmm, you could say that… I’ll be fine after some food, I think,” Emma comments, then heads to the ensuite for her morning ablutions.

Leticia knows a bit about her dreams — not the details, of course, but the general idea of them. She had had to confide in someone, and since she has few friends (or people she trusts, for that matter), Leticia was the one she told.

“There are guests coming for the luncheon,” Leticia tells her later, before she can leave the bathroom. It’s then that Emma notices the buckets filled with warm water, ready for a bath. She really must have been tired, if she hadn’t been awakened from the noise. “It was requested that I ready you.”

“That’s why I have to wear a dress, then?”

Two hours later, Emma wishes her head hadn’t been in the clouds when she let Leticia tighten a corset, tame her wavy hair and do her makeup. She wishes she hadn’t been thinking about her Dream World. She wishes the ‘month’ Queen Abigail had set as the date was really a month away and not three days before she’d expected.

The main doors of the throne room open and the monarchs of the Phrygia Kingdom are announced with trumpets.

Emma and her parents walk to meet the other three royals and their guards halfway. It’s then she spots one of the guards holding a decorated cushion with a fabric-lined velvet open case. In it, a gold diamond encrusted band displaying a brilliant and large round cut center gem. _ An engagement ring, _her traitorous mind provides.

Her breakfast is threatening to make a return. (Would it be so bad, if it did? Might distract them and she could run. Because that’s exactly what she wants to do. Run.)

She bows mechanically, aware she should say something but unable to muster any words. For this reason, she shows her teeth in a practiced smile and hopes it masks the way she’s inwardly cursing them all. And so, after pleasantries are exchanged, she lets Prince Frederick speak.

Snow grips Charming’s hand, who does the same, letting the grounding touch quiet their palpitating hearts and guilty souls. They’d been ignoring this for as long as they could, but now it’s time to face the music.

“...so, Emma...” Prince Frederick had said something before this, Emma is aware, but she couldn’t concentrate on him and her own countenance at the same time. His parents smiling encouragingly at him, he picks up the ring and lowers himself on one knee, presenting her with the big diamond. “Will you marry me?” 

Everything feels discordant to Emma, and she forgets for a second about her plans of escape. Her mind draws a blank. She opens her mouth, but can’t _ say it. _ She can’t say _ yes, _in spite of her plan. She can’t say no, either. So she stares at him, comically wide-eyed.

What hurts the most is to choke on the answer and to have Snow nodding enthusiastically, grasping her hand and squeezing it reassuringly as she says, in Emma’s place, a resounding yes.

* * *

Emma throws the door to her bedchambers open, her parents close on her heels. She swivels on her feet to glare at them, having waited all day before she was able to do this.

They at least have the decency to look ashamed, especially Mother.

“How long has this been going on?” she decides to ask, despite already knowing the answer.

Father clears his throat. “We’ve known for a while,” David admits, rubbing his neck nervously. “We thought…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what we thought, truthfully.”

_ Now you’re telling the truth? _

“We thought of the kingdom, Charming,” Snow confesses, crossing her arms, unwilling to properly acknowledge the way her skin itches from what she’s done a few hours ago by answering in Emma’s stead. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss, Emma. I thought you liked Frederick?”

Emma snorts. “No. I do not.”

“But—”

“And I’m ‘making a fuss’, because you had agreed to let me marry for love, Mother. You promised,” she continues, bottom lip wobbling. She sniffles and tries to control the urge to cry in front of them.

She removes the hair comb holding her hair up with a rush of relief. It had been scratching at her scalp all day. Goddess bless Leticia, but even she can’t do miracles with the accessories Mother chooses.

David’s chest aches. “Honey…”

For a few seconds, she does nothing.

_ Be strong, Emma. _

She hurls it across the room, curls falling in disarray to frame her flushed face, and the silver comb clattering on the floor somewhere.

It shouldn’t feel as satisfying to see the way they flinch at her outburst.

She knows she should try to _ breathe _ and calm down a bit, but the words are _ there, _ itching to be said, years of complying with their rules, their requests, and receiving _ nothing _in return. That’s how it feels. The only thing she received were lies and the acceptance of a marriage proposal for her, selling her off in exchange of—

“Why do you need the gold?”

Snow and Charming share one of those looks, trying to come up with a response.

Throwing her arms up in frustration, Emma asks again, “Why do you need the gold?” enunciating every word pointedly. “Don’t lie,” she adds for good measure.

“It’s for the war. But I suppose you’ve figured that out,” David says.

Emma looks away. She fiddles with the ring. “Why now?”

“The Wicked Witch has declared war. She’s been attacking a few villages closer to the Dark Ki— the Dark Palace.”

She turns her head in their direction again, mind reeling over the fact that _ for once _she’s being given information. “You have other options, don’t you? There are still treasures left from the Queen’s defeat.”

“Not exactly—”

“Why is the Witch doing this?” Emma has brushed her first line of thought aside, more important questions lining up now that at least one of her parents has decided to be truthful. “What does she even want?”

Snow opens her mouth, but no sound comes out at first. “We cannot give her what she wants.”

“Mother!” _ Why is it always like this with you? _ “What is it?”

“We don’t see why fighting her isn’t our best option,” Snow says in a roundabout way. “But for that to happen, she has to be away from here. We can’t have her trying to breach the barrier. And since she hasn’t placed you in danger yet—” 

“What she wants has been locked away for years now, Emma,” her father interrupts.

“Why would she want Regina?” Emma asks automatically, before she grasps the significance of it all. “She's dead. How is she the leverage?”

Her parents gape at her.

She runs the last few seconds in her head, and realizes—

_ They don’t know I know Regina is the Evil Queen. _

Actually, the reason for their silence is another, one filled with nervousness and apprehension: How possible is it that Emma might have found out the truth?

Snow falters, and it’s only Charming’s hand on her arm that keeps her from tripping on her feet. “What did you just say?” she asks slowly once she’s righted herself.

“I can fight the Wicked Witch,” Emma says, floundering. She’s never been good with lying on the spot. “I’ve trained all my life—”

“What were you talking about?” Snow asks urgently.

Emma laughs nervously and ignores the question. “Sword-fighting and archery should be enough, right?”

“We know you’re a skilled fighter, Emma.” David placates her. Snow asks the same thing again, and then he continues, “But that is out of the question. It’s too dangerous. Besides, she has magic. Powerful dark magic.”

“Emma!” Snow shouts, red splotches blooming on her cheeks from her panic. That calls her daughter’s attention. “How do you know where—”

“I have magic,” Emma says in a rush, then gasps in her next breath. She’s never said it before. To anyone.

_ shit shit shit shit— _

She stiffens, for a split second watching their disbelieving faces before she brushes past them and rushes out from her chamber, nearly tripping on her skirts. The last thing she hears is her mother and father’s spluttering in surprise.

* * *

The Charmings stand there for a few seconds, limbs unstable and hearts racing.

David is the first to recover. He hurries out of the room and shouts at Emma’s retreating form. “Emma! Come back!”

“Your majesty, do you wish for us to…” one of the guards begins to ask.

“No need,” Snow says, almost not capable of moving from the threshold she’s leaning on, thanks to the overwhelming piece of information they had just received. “We’ll go.”

Emma runs. At first, after she’s gone down the endless flight of stairs that take her to the entrance hall, she’s positive she’s going to leave the castle keep, she’s sure she’ll escape _ now _and leave everything behind. Forget all her planning, forget her maps, forget it all. Her feet have a mind of their own, however.

She stops before the archway that leads to the West Wing, breathing heavily. Something is drawing her to this part of the castle. She closes her eyes, trying to calm down. Something whispers _ “Remember what you’ve lost, Emma… What have you lost?” _and Emma gasps, eyes now open, to find a blue wisp at the end of the corridor.

Something magical is drawing her to this part of the castle.

“Emma!” she hears David shout, and she runs into the West Wing’s maze, picturing in her mind’s eye the map she had found three days ago.

* * *

Breathing sharply through her mouth, Emma falters when she takes a final turn; dead end? No, it cannot be, she's so close, she can feel it! She’s not sure what she feels, but she knows it is _ close. _

“What have I lost?” she asks herself, looking around.

Dusty tapestries along the walls, shut windows, a few rooms on the left.

She's been here before. But when?

The wisp calls her forth again, and she takes a step forward and then hesitates when she senses waves of magic from the wall at the end of the corridor, like there's something, something there—

It's a magical signature she's felt before. An unexplainable pull. That’s it! It has to be. She runs in its direction, holding up the heavy skirts.

The map said there was a tower here. How could she have forgotten?

Her hand touches the blank wall without hesitation, and it shimmers before a door materializes in front of her. A cloaking spell.

"Huh," says Emma, and the wisp seems to brighten before her, urging her on.

She looks over her shoulder, just to make sure no one is following her now. She lost her parents before she got to the library.

She pulls the door open.

The magical blue force is already inside, illuminating the stones and the long curving spiral, and she wills her feet to move forward.

“You can do it, Emma,” she whispers to herself. “You can do it.”

For a split second, you can make out two Emmas placing their foot on the first step, the step that would change their life: one is a restless 8-year-old girl who climbs the stairs hastily and wishes wholeheartedly that castle pirates exist. The other is the brave 22-year-old woman she's become, who climbs the stairs with purpose and wishes wholeheartedly she could stop everyone from dictating her own story.

Bunching up her dress in her hands, and what a horrid day to be wearing one in the first place, Princess Emma is almost all the way up when the wisp disappears. "Hey! Come back!"

She climbs the remaining steps and enters a tower; she's visited this place before, she knows. She feels it in her bones.

Regina has heard the commotion, and with a sense of foreboding, she left her bed and stood, shaky hands gripped in front of her body, awaiting either Snow or Charming to grace her with their presence. But she’s told Snow a long time ago she didn’t want to see her anymore. Perhaps it’s someone new altogether, her traitorous mind provided, someone she did not expect but who would be happy to see her dead after all these years. It's so difficult, these days, to avoid jumping to irrational conclusions.

"I-I'm..." Emma shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze sweeping rapidly around the room. Cold masonry, cobblestone floor, iron bars, a prison, this is a prison. There's a prison in the West Wing’s main tower. The bars have yellow sparks and protect the area in the form of a barrier. 

“I was sure I was awake, but now…” Emma mutters to herself, “...I'm not so sure. What’s this place?”

“Who's there?” Regina says quietly, and Emma jumps, not expecting there to be— 

Regina clears her throat. Then, louder, her chin raised in a display of confidence she does not possess, “Who are you! Step into the light and show yourself.”

Emma steps closer.

Regina steps closer.

Regina stares.

Emma stares.

They stare at each other.

Just a while longer…

“Emma?” asks Regina eventually, strangely detached. Even without seeing her as an adult before, she knows this is Emma. “Is that you?”

“Wait, do I know you?” Emma touches her aching head, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m… I’m Regina,” the former Queen provides, still too quiet. Why is she dreaming of their meeting—

“That’s— that’s not possible!” Emma exclaims, now gripping her skirts tightly between her fingers, disbelief in her voice. “Please tell me I'm not dreaming.”

“She’s not real,” Regina mumbles to herself.

It dawns on Emma, then— “You’re alive! How— You— You’ve been here all this time? _ No... _ And I didn’t know? How didn’t I know? We’ve been dreaming of each other! Oh my god, I’m— I'm not dreaming,” Emma repeats with an incredulous laugh, thoughts scrambling to understand—

Regina takes a step back, going pale. If this is all her head playing tricks on her—

Emma rushes across the distance, and lets her hands rest upon the barrier, without hesitation (just like the last time she’d seen it) and it jolts her somewhere else, some_ time _ else—

Standing in front of the cell, a younger version of herself pokes at the barrier again without hesitation

_ Don’t touch it _

falling from Regina’s mouth, dark gaze and a heart-shaped face—

_ I’m a witch _

She touches it with her palm more firmly—

_ I have never met a witch before! Are you evil, too? Like the Evil Queen? _

Warm, powerful, magic—

_ You believe the Evil Queen was scary and ugly, then? _

_ I couldn’t speak for myself. I’ve never seen a portrait of her. _

She is flooded with memories—

_ They don’t understand! _ a younger voice thinks, _ There’s a WITCH living in the tower! _

_ You will not go looking for a witch anymore, and that’s final. Do you understand? _

“Emma?” Regina asks, and it brings her back to the present so suddenly she gasps, removing her hand from the magic. She closes her eyes, breathing shakily.

Regina's heart twinges uncomfortably, and she realizes it is actually not her own sadness. “Don't cry,” she says. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“We’ve met before.” Emma watches her, the literal woman of her dreams, and now she can attach a face to the voice. “I’m not crying because of you,” she reassures her softly, hiccuping as she brushes away a few tears. “I’ve known you for quite some time, Regina, in my dreams. We’ve met before. But I’d lost you.”

Regina hugs her own stomach. “You’re not real.”

Emma nods earnestly, “I am! I promise. We met when I was a child, and you told me you were a—”

“—witch,” Regina completes, butterflies in her stomach. She hasn’t felt happy excitement in so long. “How— What are you doing here? You came rushing in.” She pauses, remembers their last dreams— “Weren’t you planning your escape?”

“Oh. Oh! I ought to go. I— It was today, Regina. I didn’t know. They accepted it,” Emma says in a broken voice, touching the barrier once more. It thrums with powerful energy.

Regina steps closer, then steps back with a hiss when she realizes how close she came from being burned by the barrier. “Run. I thought I was talking to myself, but I meant it. Run, Emma. Don’t let them—”

“I can’t leave you here!” Emma exclaims. “I can’t leave you behind. You’re my only friend,” she admits in a whisper. “The only one I trust.”

Regina smiles sadly, and whatever’s left of her heart does somersaults at the idea that someone should call her a friend after all these years. “You have to go,” she says seriously, staring right into Emma’s eyes to make her point.

“No.” Emma hits the barrier, and the yellow light ripples and crackles. “There has to be something—”

“I’ll only hinder you, dear,” Regina denies it, doesn’t let feelings like Hope and Affection overwhelm her. She has to reason with her. “You’re losing time. Go now. If they find you in here—”

Emma hits it again, driven, and there’s a crack in the surface—

Regina gasps.

Another hit, and another, and another, Emma’s magic boosting the blows.

One more, and—

—the barrier shatters into a million pieces, turning to sparkly dust right before touching the ground.

Regina falls to the floor, the oppressive weight of the magic holding her inside lifted, swift and suddenly.

Without thinking, Emma waves her hand to unlock the padlock at the cell’s door. Before opening it, though, she focuses her senses and determines her parents’ presence nearby. They must hurry. “My parents are close, I can feel it.”

“You… you really have magic?” Regina says with an awed expression.

“You thought you had imagined that?” Emma pulls the door open, the hinges groaning and protesting after so many years.

“Emma, what are you doing?”

“I’m setting us free,” Emma grins, holding out her hand to the woman on the ground.

Regina eyes it, not daring to breathe.

“Come on,” Emma encourages her, hand still outstretched. “We must go.”

A moment.

Letting her fingertips hover above Emma’s palm, Regina dares to breathe again.

Another moment, and...

Their hands touch.

They close their eyes, a powerful exchange travelling through them, sparks jolting their systems, magical signatures intertwined. Then, Emma pulls her up gently, and they are unable to take their eyes away from one another.

‘Hi,’ their souls seem to say in unison.

Suddenly, there are shuffling steps on the stairs and murmured voices, and it bursts their happy bubble in a second. Regina’s heart, which was beating fast from the adrenaline of being seen and being touched, now threatens to jump from her chest because of _ fear. _And she hates what she’s become, this scared, foolish—

“Direct me anywhere you want,” Emma stops her from falling into a pit of self-loathing, squeezing her hand, reassuring her. “I’ll take us there.”

Regina nods, words failing her for once.

David enters the tower first, blinking when he skims over the place and finds it lacking the yellow glow. Once he understands what he’s seeing — he doesn’t understand it, really — David unsheathes the sword at his waist, moves forward. “Get away from her, you evil witch—”

_ “Emma! _What are you doing!” Snow screams, running inside the cell with him, but it’s too late—

“Now!” Emma shouts.

They disappear in lilac smoke.


	18. how does a moment last forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't go holding your breath  
You know that I'm not done yet  
There's still a fight in me left  
Don't go shouting out loud  
That you're claiming the crown  
I'm done but not out." Birdy, _ Silhouette _

The magic clears, and they both tumble to the grass in a heap of limbs, disoriented by the long distance they had travelled, especially considering that the castle has been under a protective barrier that leaves magic subdued. (It had been a wonder that Emma had learned so much while being inside its walls.)

Regina, with her body still weak from all the years imprisoned and from her recently replenishing magic, falls on top of Emma, and they gasp, the fall knocking the wind out of both of them for a few moments.

The dew soaks Emma’s dress, but she doesn’t care at all. She stares at the brilliant night sky, the same sky she’s seen from the castle but that feels different, because, because—

“Where…” Emma swallows, the proximity doing things to her. Regina still hasn’t moved from her position, and Emma is at a loss as to what she should do; the way Regina’s whole body trembles cannot be normal. “Where are we?”

“Firefly Hill,” falls from Regina’s lips in a faint whisper. She finally maneuvers herself to lie on the ground next to Emma, despite the way she aches for the closeness. _ (One: I miss touch.) _Her skin itches, but she really doesn’t wish to taint Emma with herself, or make her uncomfortable.

The grass certainly soaks her old, awful dress, but she welcomes it with shaky exhales leaving her mouth. _ (Eight: I miss water.) _

Her eyes take in the trees above her _ (Ten: I miss nature) _, the beautiful starry night, the wet grass she bunches up between her fingers. Her mind cannot yet comprehend—

“We’re free,” Emma proclaims with a laugh. A happy laugh. “I can’t believe it!”

Soon they are both laughing, staring up at the twinkling fireflies and stars.

* * *

Fog covers the Royal Castle, like any other typical winter night. 

The difference, however, is that for the first time in years, the gates can be heard being lifted so late at night. Soon, a parade of horses gallop furiously from the bridge, and it’s possible to distinguish Snow White and Charming from the knights.

Oliver rubs his tired eyes, then blinks a few times, unsure if he’s seeing it correctly.

“Whoa,” he says, then clamps his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do to be discovered now. Ma’am would use that terrifying green fire and incinerate him if he was. He shuffles his body to hide better in the bush.

“There’s no time to lose,” King Charming barks orders, and Oliver can see enough in the dark to realize the King is nervous, unsettled. “Team one stays around the perimeters in case the Wicked Witch shows up. Team two comes with us to the Troll Bridge.”

“Blue, are you sure they went that way?” Queen Snow White asks the hovering Blue Fairy.

“Yes, your majesty,” she answers with a sure nod. “Close to what was once the Dark Kingdom.”

“Let’s go!” Charming shouts, and their horses neigh as they break into a furious gallop by command.

Oliver’s mouth falls open, and he fights with his satchel in his haste to open it, taking out his enchanted mirror. He shakes it.

_ “You can stop shaking it, Oliver.” _ Zelena says tiredly.  _ “I can see you. It's the middle of the night, and you've disrupted my beauty sleep, so this better be good.” _

“They left the castle, ma’am,” he tells her eagerly, but quietly, minding the guards at their posts a few miles ahead. “I think the princess has escaped, somehow.”

_ “Finally!” _ Zelena places a hand to her heart and cackles. It’s scary how witchy-like she is. In a good way, of course.  _ “It’s time, Oliver. Thank you, pet. Meet me at the Palace soon. Ta-ta.” _

She cuts the connection.

* * *

What else have her parents hidden from her? Emma asks herself, watching Regina stand there, hugging her midriff and still shaking, probably not registering the majestic view they have from up here, with the water touched by moonlight in the distance. Regina had clammed up after they’d gotten up from the ground. Had asked for a few moments alone before they left. Emma could only oblige.

Truth is, Regina is scared.

_ I’m the Evil Queen, _ she thinks bitterly. She shouldn’t be scared — but that’s precisely why she’s _ terrified. _Emma would realize it at any second, and Regina would be left alone—

“H-how long has it been for you?” Emma asks quietly, moving forward to stand next to her.

“I don’t know,” Regina answers, sparing her a lost look. Her expression hurts Emma, anguish plain on her features, eyebrows pinched together. “You tell me... How old are you?”

_ You should never ask a lady her age, _Emma almost jokes, which she tends to do when she’s nervous. The distress coming from Regina in waves doesn’t help matters.

“Twenty-two,” Emma replies seriously to show Regina she’s not lying.

_ “Oh.” _

_ twenty-two twenty-two twenty-two _

Regina chokes in disbelief.

“Hey, hey, Regina,” Emma calls for her, stepping closer. Regina’s wild gaze tries to meet Emma’s, her legs unsteady again. She grabs her dark hair, lungs not filling with enough oxygen, and shakes her head. “Look at me, Regina. You’re out— we’re out. We can face everything else together.”

Regina can almost believe her.

“Can I— can I touch you?” Emma asks worriedly, hands outstretched to catch Regina in case she falls.

“Yes,” Regina croaks out with a nod, throwing herself into Emma’s embrace, _ please _stuck in her throat. Her skin tingles, and she chases the feeling before she realizes what she’s doing, hugging Emma closer, leaning into the touch. Her body hungers for physical touch; just a shivering, terrified human clinging to another frightened human like the other might suddenly disappear.

“That’s it. Take some deep breaths for me.”

Smiling softly when Regina does, Emma hugs her to her chest. The first sob she hears makes her hold her tighter; feeling Regina’s shoulders shake as she sobs. Emma feels very small all of a sudden.

“It’s okay, take all the time you need,” Emma whispers, voice cracking as she too cries.

Born anew.

They stand there for a few moments, their uneven breaths and grasshoppers filling the silence.

Eventually, Regina mumbles, “I’m sorry,” fear in her voice, still breathing irregularly. There’s fear that Emma will push her away. There was a newly manifested fear as soon as she left that place, constant and terrible. Feat that this is only a nightmare and she’s back in her cell, waiting for her lonesome end—

“You don’t have to apologize,” Emma answers softly, cradling her head. It’s so easy to care about Regina, like she’s done it her whole life, like they’ve known each other forever.

It puts Regina’s bad thoughts to a halt, and all they can think of is

_ We’re free. _

* * *

“...I sensed your magic when you were a child,” Regina is telling her later, much later that night, as they lie on the ground again, unable to bring themselves to leave the hill just yet. They have some time, they hope, they hope. Regina will take them to her old home at dawn. For now… “I sensed your emotions several times, come to think of it. But I didn’t know it was you.”

"But I thought…” Emma pauses. “I didn't have magic growing up.”

Regina frowns. “Of course you did. Magic manifests at an early age for those born with it, as you were.”

And Emma chuckles in derision (laughing at her own naivety), because of course, of course they— “They lied to me.”

Lifting her head from Emma’s chest, Regina asks, “Who? Your parents?”

Emma nods. “Mhmm.”

“Want to… talk about it?” It feels foreign to show concern, to have someone whose wellbeing she truly cares about. However, it also feels good. Regina catches herself before she does something ridiculous like running her hand through Emma’s soft hair. _ Regina, you’re not going to mope around like a lovesick teenager. _

“I’ll… I promise I’ll explain later with more details. I’m just so tired of all this…” Emma says with a sigh, interrupting Regina’s line of thought. “I’ve had dreams, voices that encouraged me to find what I’ve lost. Several of them. And I’m sure it’s their fault.”

It hurts to know it. To be sure. To be sure that they messed with her head, her memories, even her magic. They _ knew _she had magic.

She doesn’t want to ask herself _ Just what kind of people are my parents? It’s like I don’t know them at all, _because it hurts, beneath her ribcage, there in her tired heart.

* * *

Emma opens her eyes, unsure of what’s awakened her from her slumber. She hears some rustling again, and carefully disentangles from Regina, who had also fallen into a fitful sleep, exhausted from too much activity and adrenaline so soon.

Getting up with a huff, and gripping her soggy skirts, Emma eyes the dark trees ahead with a racing heart, suddenly nervous. It’s better to check, though it’s most likely a squirrel or some other kind of inoffensive animal. The dangers that lurk in the outside world are many, and she hasn’t a weapon with her besides her magic. 

Still, something makes a noise again, and Emma crosses the distance until she’s at the edge of the forest, and enters it with her hand raised and ready to attack if necessary.

* * *

Regina jolts awake, immediately gasping for air, holding her chest and imploring to make it stop, please oh please make it stop. It hurts so much. Panic blooms in her every pore, and it's not only her own she feels. She has to blink several times to clear the tears of pain from her vision.

_ Emma, _ she thinks next. She turns her head so fast her neck pops, but still can’t see her anywhere. _ Where are you, Emma? _

"Emma!" she shouts, as loud as her sore throat permits. She shouts again. And again. 

Her heart twinges in pain again, and she doubles over.

“Emma,” she sobs. “Don’t leave me.”

And then, then there's nothing.

Like her connection to Emma was severed from the swift snap of scissors.

(It had actually been a needle.)

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me? :D I still have a lot to tell? (Frankly, when haven't I written a two-part story? lol)
> 
> Thank you so much for taking your time to read this. It means the world to me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Time stands still (until I gaze upon you) [ ART ]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20405071) by [mippippippi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mippippippi/pseuds/mippippippi)


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